Begin Again
by C-Me-Smile
Summary: Edward is a married novelist of some renown. An unexpected reunion in a bookstore reawakens old feelings in him never fully buried of lost love, desire, aching regret and tentative hope. But does the object of his feelings still feel the same? All-Human
1. Chapter 1

***waves*** :)

_I've been so inspired by so many absolutely beautiful Jasper/Edward fics on here that I couldn't resist trying my hand at a Jasper/Edward fic too. This one, however, is a shortie because I'm a FF virgin and, yeah, I'm nervous! LOL. Obviously, this is a Slash Jasper/Edward fic, so if you don't care for Slash fics, you probably won't enjoy this much. Also, this is for the 18-and-over crowd, as it references some *intimate* moments between our gorgeous boys. ;-) _

**_Anyway, so, Edward is a married novelist of some renown. An unexpected reunion in a bookstore reawakens old feelings in him never fully buried of lost love, desire, aching regret and tentative hope. But does the object of his feelings still feel the same? _**

_Twilight and the characters therein, as well as the ones I'm greedily borrowing for the fic, belong to Stephanie Meyer. I'm just playing with them for a bit (because, really, they're so gorgeous, how can I resist?) _

**---**

**Edward - POV**

_**~*~**_

I make it most days without tears, without regrets that pull at my heart with tender, tightening cords. Yes, days are fine... well, yes, alright then, they're _okay_...

...but oh, the nights....

That's when the ghosts come - the sweet spirits of the past that hover incandescent in the dusty light of memory, teasing me with gossamer glimpses of a past so achingly beautiful that I feel my eyes fill, heavy, burning, overflowing in silvery rivulets down my cheeks, scalding them with the tears of sweet sorrow that I wipe away - frantic, nervous, so afraid of being caught, so afraid of _her_ asking why I cry...

No, I can't tell her. Not this. This is mine. MY own precious memory - the soft, warm glow of it that still can bring a curving smile to my lips, or brighten my eyes with tears of regret. It's something she'd never understand and I don't want her to... understand, to know it, to reveal this hidden, tender, vulnerable side of myself, to open my most sacred memories to her.

Oh, never that.

And so... I keep my memories sacred and safe and secret, buried in my heart tight as a message wrapped in a sea-cocooned bottle. And I make it... day by day, and it grows... easier... to a certain extent, day by long, long day...

But then... yesterday... when my world was again turned upside down, and I froze - a rabbit in the field with the hounds baying close behind, and I felt cornered and... exhilarated, and again... oh god, again... yet again, I felt it - that great, overwhelming pressure, that honeyed syrup of love that filled me again, heightened by that fire, the spark of desire that lit inside me, setting every nerve aflame, and I knew... I was not over you. Never over you. How could I ever be... over you?

You were sitting in a pool of sunlight beside the window of the bookshop, a cup of coffee cooling before you as you thumbed through a music magazine... and I smiled. Still my musician, my love, my musician with the voice and form of an angel.

The sunlight bathed you, gilding the golden hair and the curve of those carved, arching cheekbones, kissing the ripe, delicate lips, causing your eyes to flash so green - vivid spring burning in that bright gaze as you looked up... and I gasped at the vision, ducking behind a stack of books, my heart pounding in my chest with a mad staccato rhythm, wondering if you saw me, and... what would you think and... then...

You were there before me, and your eyes, those sweet deep eyes were laughing and soft all at once and you smiled a hesitant, quiet sort of smile as you murmured, "Edward..."

To see that dimpled smile and to hear that familiar voice again moved me - the voice of an angel - that honeyed Southern accent, the voice rich and deep but softly-growly, a voice that always made me think of a lion rolled in cotton batting and I smiled at the imagery, remembering that mussed, curly blond head poking up from tangled sheets, and I meant to laugh... but it came out wrong... and instead it erupted from me like a gasp, a cry, a whimper and a laugh - a garbled sound of desperation that shamed me so that I looked down, staring at the expensive Italian shoes on my feet, and I swallowed, a lump in my throat, bereft of my own voice as I turned away slightly, turning away from you, my angel because your light hurt my eyes, you burned me with your love, and I couldn't do this again...

You touched me then, your hand reaching to cup my cheek and I reached up too then, to take your hand, grasping it hard, feverish, holding it to my face as I turned to look back into the eyes of the man I still loved, and I saw the gleam on my finger - the platinum band mocking me, taunting me with its cold sheen and I closed my eyes against it, pressing into his hand, not caring what others must think to see us here... like this... a strange tableau of lost love in the middle of a sea of books, and how ironic that... that it was books that had driven us apart, that had taken me from you.

The bright career of a novelist - the fame, the fortune, the frivolities that seduced me as surely as any temptress - that pulled me from our warm, cozy bed into the glittering lights of hell, and what price, fame? I gave up all that truly mattered to me - all my love distilled into your essence - and I poured it into your bottle, giving it back to you, while I grabbed hold of the genie bottle not caring for the danger within, and I allowed that genie to rule my life, to take my life, to take my love...

And despite it all, you never hated me for it. How could you though - a creature filled to bursting with such love - yours, mine - no, there is no hate in you. Only love and laughter and life, and eventually you found someone to share that love with and so I asked you...

How are you, Jasper? How is ...?

I couldn't say his name.

A graceful shrug of those broad shoulders, a smirking, dimpled smile, a wink - a mask. I knew that look - a cavalier mask of charm to hide the pain within.

"Fine, I'm sure. I wouldn't know though. We broke up six months ago."

I nodded then, feeling selfishly relieved... and horribly guilty for feeling that way, for wishing you to be alone if you were not with me. And for a moment I despised myself that I would rather you be alone, loveless - if that love were not mine. But... no... not really. No, I would never wish you anything, my angel, but happiness - the happiness and love that you do deserve - the happiness I robbed from you that horrible September night when I told you I needed to go away, to Italy, to write, and something inside you seemed to break, as if some small part of you knew what would happen, and so asked me not to go and I laughed, telling you that you were worrying over nothing, and honestly, there was nothing to be nervous about... but you were right.

When I returned to the apartment a month and a day later, it was empty - still filled with my clothes, my books, my papers, my things, but empty of you - empty of your life, your vibrancy, your talent, your music and your laughter, your shirts and trousers and cowboy boots, your guitar and music journals and cigarettes, empty of your bright smile and your brighter love... empty of all that really mattered in my life... empty of all... but pride... and I choked on it.

And now, these two years later we stood near enough for me to feel your breath - soft as a feather- against my cheek - and yet, it seems a gulf separates us... and I reach, desperate, a drowning man to the light in those bright eyes, needing that warmth, and you lean in, murmuring against my ear as your fingertips caress my jaw, "I still...I...fuck, Edward, it's good to see you, man."

Then, with another smile - this one flushed and strangely almost shy, you stepped back, and you winked again. "Leave your number with the barista if you want to stay in touch. She's a friend of mine. She'll get it to me. Take care, Edward."

With one last dimpled grin at me, you turned then and strode off, sliding on a pair of dark shades as you slipped out of my life again and into the waiting day.

---

I did it. I tried calling you, but I got your voice mail and I couldn't do it. I couldn't leave a message... because I'm a damn coward like that.

Swallowing another long drink of the scotch, I mused as I stared darkly into the flames, my brooding interrupted by the shrill ringing of the phone.

I turned with a jerk and grabbed the phone, expecting to hear the cigarette-raspy voice of my manager on the other end, but no... oh no... it's you... and suddenly, my life spins out again... and the words spill out of me as I hear the strangled sigh of your voice and I know you've been drinking tonight too, and your voice is rough with emotion...

"Jasper... _(oh Angel)_, why are you calling me so late?" There is a pause and then more muffled sounds of rough breaths, and I continue, "Jazz, baby, it's a little hard to talk right now."

I bend over the phone, cradling it tenderly, wishing it was you I was cradling instead. "Is everything okay?" I ask.

I pause then and explain. "I've got to whisper. I can't be too loud. She... she's in the next room."

You try to talk then, to apologize, to make your excuses and hang up, but I call out desperately, my voice rising on the edge of hysteria, desperate to hang on to this tenuous electronic bond with you - the fragile cord that connects us, that mocks the real cord - the cord of remembered and still raw and felt and strong love - that we share.

"Fuck, Jasper,... I wish it were you in the room next door. I wish she was you. I... oh god..."

And now, I'm crying, and I wonder if you know it. I guess we never really moved on, but... right now... for this one moment, I feel both heartbroken and elated to talk with you, because words can't even describe how it feels to hear your voice saying my name... it sounds so perfect... and I close my eyes, leaning back heavily into the chair, still cradling the phone because I never want to say goodbye, and yes, it's hard, and you make it hard for me to be faithful to my vows, but...I feel sometimes that despite the platinum band, the vows... it's all a mockery of what I truly feel - because I feel that I should only be faithful to _you_, and I want to make everything up to you, and I want to love you for the rest of our lives, and so I tell you this.

Your reply is soft, a whisper of sound - but a sound that fills me, rolling through me like a beautiful wave, refreshing and reawakening me. "I miss you, too, Edward. I miss _us_. I want to be with you again."

And at those words, I can hold back no longer - needing you, wanting to drown in your essence, and I answer, oh my Jasper, I love you, more than you could ever know. I still dream of you, of the warmth of your embrace, still dream of you sealing your beautiful mouth to mine - and I ache for it, still, - kissing you, tasting you, wanting you, loving you...

I remember making love to you, sliding hot, deep inside the velvety warmth of your tight, gorgeous body. I recall those husky moans, the feel of your hot, firm, sweating flesh pressed tightly to mine as you arch up, grabbing on to me as you groan in pleasure. There is no heaven like that - the feel of you around me, or _in_ me - pushing, sliding deep and hot, your body so close, so fucking tight to mine as you whisper soft obscenities, telling me how beautiful I am, how good I am, how good I feel, what you're going to do to me, how much you love me.

I remember grabbing those tangled, sweat-dampened curls, pulling your head back almost roughly to expose your long, pale neck for my delectation, and I press heated, wet lips and tongue to that elegant neck, my hips grinding against yours, and I feel you, your cock sliding smoothly in and out in an intimate, familiar, delicious rhythm, as I cling to you, my hands tight on your sweating back feeling the taut muscles tense and your panting chest pressing into mine as you reach one hand down to grasp my hard, leaking length that swells below and I arch into your warm hand as you pump me in time with your heavy thrusts....

My own beloved... how I have missed you.

"Edward, Darlin'..."

Again... I hear your voice saying my name, and oh god, those words coming from the lips of my angel... they weaken my resolve until all I want is you, just you....

"Jasper, meet me in the bookshop tomorrow...uhm... let's make it morning. I can't wait longer than that."

"Okay. 10 when it opens?"

"10." I nod though you can't see me.

"And then what?" Your voice - fragile hope is heavy in it.

"And then... we begin again."

~*~


	2. Chapter 2

_Just a couple of things first... I really want to thank all of you who have left such wonderful, kind reviews and those who have added me to your alerts and faves. You have no idea how much that means to me! Thank you so very much! :) _

_Also, I am so very, very grateful to my incredible, wonderful friend and Beta, Val, **Touchstone67**, for her friendship, her inspiration, her kindness, her talent, her generosity of spirit, not to mention her time, and, gah, her beautiful art that she made for "Begin Again" which I dearly love! :) Here's the link if you'd like to check out her gorgeous banner for yourself: touchstonesart(dot)com(slash)images(slash)beginagainbanner(dot)jpg (replace the dots and slash with the real things, or alternately, just click on my profile and you can directly click on the image from the hyperlink to it I've posted there) Thank you, Val, for everything! You're the best! :D MWAH! Also, I want to thank Katie, **Starfish422**, for her friendship and her support, for posting about the story on her blog :) and for jump-starting my love in the first place for this delicious pairing with her own absolutely beautiful story "Over the Top". :) And last but certainly NOT least, big thanks and massive HUGS to the awesome **Twislash Unveiled** girls for posting about "Begin Again" on their blog. Thank you so much for that! :D_

_Okay, so now for Chapter 2 - two disclaimers: Twilight and the characters therein, as well as the ones I'm greedily borrowing for the fic, belong to Stephanie Meyer. I'm just playing with them for a bit (because, really, they're so gorgeous, how can I resist?) Also, the title of this chapter and some of the inspirational elements within were inspired by Suzanne Vega's "Gypsy" song._

_I feel like I should also probably explain that this chapter is told from Jasper's POV, and, as such, the 'voice' is a little different in tone from Chapter 1. ;-) Hope it's not jarring! Okay, that's it! :) Now, on to Chapter 2..._

_~~*~~_

_**Begin Again **_

**Chapter 2 - Another Spinner of Strange and Gauzy Threads**

(_**Jasper - POV**_)

~~*~~

I've been sitting here for over an hour now, the same as any other morning - coffee, TV, stack of mail to sort through. Everything _seems_ the same - typical morning in Casa Whitlock, only... _everything_ has changed.

_Edward. _So organized and efficient. The arranger of disorder, except when it comes to my scattered, flyaway feelings. Despite it all - our years together, our love, the tangled threads of our lives we spun together - the two of us were never really able get our shit together.

He left me to pick up the pieces of our relationship years ago; to try to figure out the jigsaw puzzle we - he and I _together_ - became, and I couldn't do it. I've never been one for puzzles. I'm too straightforward for games like that. That was always Edward's thing - the games, the puzzles, the mysteries, not mine. Yet, now, here I sit puzzling over all this stuff... and believe me, I'm completely out of my damn element.

I'm trying not to look at the clock that slowly counts down the minutes, each one seeming to pulse like throbbing in the blood, as the time draws nearer to...

... what?

Fuck if I know.

Shaking my head, I lean back against the couch, the smoke from my cigarette curling in a lazy haze over my head as I squeeze the bridge of my nose, trying to flick away the thoughts assailing me like a bothersome fly.

Truth is, though, it's not that simple. But I wish to fuck it were. I wish I could quit brooding on it like some opium-dazed poet - all this circular thinking - it'll drive you mad if you let it. Even so, it's not like I can turn my brain off, though sometimes I wish I could... like now, when I'm still trying to understand the whims of fate that would throw my ex-lover into my path again. And it must be fate because I don't believe in mere coincidence - a fact that Edward himself had often found amusing - my _'artistic fancy' _- as he referred to it.

But how else to explain such a thing, if not fate? I mean, come on, why was it, _how was it_, that I should be in that bookstore at the _exact time _he is there when I haven't laid eyes on Edward in a year or more?!

Sore eyes... a sight for sore eyes, as the old saying goes, and how true it is, for that is exactly what he is for me - only, so much more than just... _that_. I wish that's all he was for me, because God knows when he plays me a fucking fiddle, I just... oh, hell, I just _sing _for him. I _hate_ that, but... here's the crux, I _love_ him... _still. _I do. I still love Edward Cullen, and a part of me hates that I do.

And seeing him, God, I tried so hard to play it cool and cavalier so that he wouldn't know the tumult he causes inside me, that he's always caused inside me. It's like a storm of desire and a thunder of feeling, and it still rages inside me despite the passage of time. My storm-bringer with lightning in his eyes lashing at me with the tightest, most tender ties of longing.

Yeah, I won't lie, not to myself. I miss him so much some nights that it's painful, like a physical ache that stays with me. It's a funny thing, that ache, though, somehow it's a _sweet_ ache, if there even is such a thing; and I daresay there is because it's what I feel.

I take another long drag on my cigarette, but even it can't calm me as the storm of emotion builds inside me. It's ironic, I guess, but even though Edward is the storm-bringer, he's also the only one who can _calm_ the storm. It was always the case - one look from those misty eyes of his, one touch of his hand, one gentle smile, one soft word, and everything inside me just calmed. Well, hold up, the desire or passion or feeling never lessened - if anything, the opposite, but the _desperation_ of those feelings, that _madness,_... yeah, the madness calmed.

It's something I've always admired about him - his cool head. Now me, I'm a hot head, and though I try to conceal it, I'm not very good at it. The thing is, I know Edward feels things as strongly as I do, but he's always had much more control over his emotions and they've never overtaken him and driven him to the brink as mine have done to me.

Edward has always known me better than anyone, and that's mainly due to the fact that I've always been brutally honest with him. I always sensed he knew how I felt, what I was thinking, regardless, so it's stupidly fruitless for me to try to mislead him. Still, in our years together, I would stubbornly try to mask my feelings, but he always saw through that mask... just like he did _yesterday_.

_Damn..._

Could he tell? Does he know what seeing him again fucking does to me? Was it written all over my face, heavy in my voice, burning in my eyes?

Most likely it was, and even if it wasn't, I know Edward. He would know because he's always had that power over me. I guess some would argue that I gave him that power, and perhaps I did, and again, some might say that's a hefty price to pay, but the reward - _his love _- well, that precious gift was worth any price.

...

Well... I'm a fucking hypocrite. Because while I say that his love is worth anything,_ everything, _I have my pride and though I know he knows the power he wields over my heart_ still_, thankfully he's also too much of a gentleman to use it against me. His back straight, Edward Cullen prowls like a prince in this world - not arrogant, but strong, confident of his place in it.

I always felt so rough-mannered next to him. With my coarse language and my cigarettes and faded jeans and boots and guitar, I'm a cowboy to his prince. One of our friends used to call us that - the cowboy and the prince. But yeah, okay, I felt like a damn hillbilly with him sometimes. Edward, for his part, always assured me that was not the case, and he called me his 'polite southern gentleman'. Sometimes he playfully teased me, accusing me of turning up the charm by flirting and laying the accent and southern expressions on a bit thick, but he also confessed he loved it... and he loved me.

See... that's the thing right there. Sometimes I questioned his motives, his actions, but you know, I never questioned his love... not even when I probably should have. It's just...well, it was something I knew in my heart even if my head didn't fully accept it. I knew he loved me, and I've always known it, despite it all. It was always obvious in his every look and gesture and smile, and especially every time we made love. He loved me as I love him. Even at the end, when he left me for his damn career, some part of me still clung tenaciously to the belief that he loved me - even if the greater part of me and my own pride argued that he loved his career more.

Our relationship was always complex - not so much a power-struggle or a union of opposites or a relationship of convenience as it was this strange, searing thing that neither one of us could truly define other than to say that it gripped us both. The best way I knew to express how I felt about him, about _us_, has always been through my music. The honesty of music, the passion of it, the feelings it stirs in the breast of both musician and listener, is the only artistry I possess that could come anywhere near to truly capturing what I feel for Edward. _He's my muse_. Love and inspiration entwined in eternal embrace.

That's always how it was for us, and fuck, I miss it and I miss him.

I've been thinking about what it was like for us when we were together. At first it had seemed a charmed thing - magic even. Edward's writing, my music - both serving to excite and inspire the other. When Edward struggled with writer's block, he would ask me to play or sing for him. I remember his smile at those times, the intensity of light that burned in those forest eyes, whose color reminded me of early-morning walks I used to take when I was small with my grandfather back in the pine forest behind our house.

Yeah, Edward's eyes hold just that quality of light and mystery - the bright sun hitting the branches, coupled with the cool mystery of the forest itself. Like him, those eyes of his are beautiful, bright, warm, and giving light existing side-by-side with his more enigmatic qualities, that sphinx-like part of himself - the part that would give me that mysterious smile when I would say something to him that intrigued or puzzled him and then I would find myself puzzling over his expression. I learned to catalogue his smiles and what each one meant.

But always, his eyes were like windows to _my_ soul because he could always look right through me, see right through to the very essence of me.

Standing there with him in the bookstore, my heavy gaze lingered over him, drifting over the familiar, messy crown of bronze-copper hair that made me think of the most gorgeous, vivid autumn leaves. I gazed silently for a long moment more at his calm, beautiful face as he almost languidly perused my own, and I couldn't resist touching him with my guitar-blistered, music-scarred fingers. _Scarred skin, scarred man_. My heart is scarred too.

He glanced up then at my touch, smiling, though his expressive eyes remained a bit guarded and it near broke my heart anew that he would look at me with those _guarded_ eyes.

I think of all the times those glimmering, green eyes have gazed up at me laughing with amusement or shining vivid with love, or foggy with lust as he twisted sweaty below me or writhed taut above, so that calm, guarded look ripped at my soul, reminding me that I am an interloper, a distraction in the orderly life he has carved out for himself, and like I said, Edward Cullen doesn't do disorder.

I wanted to reach out and cover those long pale fingers, so graceful as they danced nervously over the edges of the book he held. I wanted to take those hands, hold them in my own, and bring them to my lips, kissing warmth and life and joy back into them. I wanted to see those hands move in excitement again, pantomiming the words he spoke. I wanted to feel those hands on my skin again, to feel them touching and caressing and holding me again.

And now, all I desire is to see those hands and those marvelous eyes dance, to see that light of inspiration gilding every moment of our lives...like it used to be with us. See, like I said, Edward and I would inspire each other, and I loved playing my music for him. Sometimes I wondered if he or I earned more pleasure from it.

"Ah, my Jasper," he had always laughed. "In the words of the bard, if music be the food of love, play on!"

And I had grinned at the sight of his bright smile and the literary allusion, fancying myself for a moment to be Pan himself, high on love and music and desire, or perhaps even Dionysus to whom Edward sometimes compared me saying Dionysus was also "a_ beautiful, curly-haired god with a fondness of and talent for music_".

Dionysus. I had laughed when he called me that, tackling him playfully down on the couch and he just grinned up at me, wrapping his strong legs around my waist as he tangled his fingers in my hair, pulling at the curls there, making me growl. I winked down at him, responding with a chuckle, my accent rolling out thick and sweet as I grinned and retorted, _'Dionysus, darlin', was also the god of wine and madness.'_

He had laughed at that and nodded, leaning up on his elbows to kiss me - hot and slow and sweet, whispering against my mouth, "_divine madness, yes, but he was also the god of ecstasy... called by some ancients: 'the god who comes._'"

At that, I laughed, my eyes widening, flaring hot with desire as Edward smiled up at me. I grinned wickedly back at him and, rocking slow and sensual against him, murmured hotly, "Well, I best get to coming then soon because I'd hate to be failing in my godly duties, Sweetheart."

In all things - in love and laughter, in the tangled curve of our bodies pressed together - in everything, he inspired me, _my beautiful muse_. I was happy to play the merry minstrel for him so long as he kept smiling at me just like that.

And now, he's walked right back into my life to stir me up again with his love and his dreams and the pretty pictures in his eyes.

At first, when I looked up and saw him standing there in the bookstore, I thought him an illusion, some fevered fantasy my over-caffeinated brain was cooking up to inspire me again, to quicken the muse, but no; the vision was real. He was there. Right there with me and it was like everything just went still and silent, that it was only the two of us caught in a bubble of time. All the cradled resentment in my heart was forgotten for the moment, and all I really wanted was to hold him, to curl up inside him again and melt in that sweet heat.

It felt like I was moving in slow-motion toward him and I couldn't stop myself, nor did I really want to. I needed to see him. I needed to touch him, to know that he was truly there.

It was both strange and familiar in some sweet, aching way to talk with him again, to hear that mellifluous, velvety voice caressing over me; to touch the curve of his cheek and feel his warmth against my fingers... and to look into his amazing eyes again.

I don't even know what I said to him. It was like I was caught off-guard, completely out of my head. I found myself trying to express some of what I was thinking, how I still felt about him, but I couldn't say those things to him. _Not now_. I think I caught myself in time, or I _hope _I did, because I couldn't and _can't_ let him know what I feel. I don't have that luxury anymore of expressing to him my truest feelings because Edward is taken, and I don't want to look like the damn heartsick fool I am for even thinking that there could be anything between us anymore.

But, you know what, the heart feels what it will, and I don't know... but sometimes I think the heart is wiser than the head. Or maybe that's just a fool's wisdom. That's me... the fool - jester of the courtyard, distracted by the pretty and the timid and the blessed, by a shining crown of copper and vivid eyes of emerald.

Still, I told him it was good to see him again and everything I wanted to say to him was shaded, though unspoken, in those words that I blurted to him. I felt my face heat up as I clamped shut my betraying mouth and stared down for a moment into the cold coffee in my hand, seeing my own haunted reflection in the dark liquid looking back at me. These fucking wide eyes of mine always give me away. What the hell was I doing? I couldn't say these things to him. He couldn't know what I feel.

Two years ago, he walked out of my life and into another - a brighter life of fame, fortune - all the things I couldn't dare hope to give him, and, truth be told, that which I could have very possibly held from him. Not on purpose, mind you, but inadvertently - distracting him with my presence, causing issues for him with regard to the subject of his novels. I suppose that is the crux of the matter - that and the fame and ambition.

Edward's books are incredible things - rich, complex, replete with all the requisite things that make for a good read - adventure, drama, heavy plot, good pacing, interesting setting, in-depth characterization, and... romance for good measure. _Heterosexual_ romance.

So, that fairly begs the question, where did that leave me, or well, not _me_ per se, but our relationship? His manager, his publisher, hell, even his editor worried about the impact to his book sales if it got out that he was involved with another man. They worried that no one would buy the legitimacy of his books, or, rather, the romantic aspect of his books, which was bullshit, if you ask me. I told Edward so, and I don't think he appreciated it.

My argument was that writing came from the heart, just as music does. He countered, saying that one was meant to write what one knows but he couldn't write about me. I argued back that he _was_ writing what he knew - he was writing about love and passion and desire and all of those amazing fucking things that we shared. He agreed, but he said that perhaps his readers wouldn't agree. I called him out on that, saying he wasn't giving his readers enough credit, and argued that it wasn't his readers who had a problem with it - it was his damn _people - _his handlers - and perhaps even himself that had a problem with the truth getting out about his sexuality.

It was one of the worst arguments we ever had, neither of us willing to give up our position and we finally agreed to disagree, and while the argument itself eventually petered-out, the resentment and questions the argument engendered still lingered, poisoning our relationship, and eventually leading Edward to leave, saying he needed to go to Italy to clear his head, to regain his inspiration, and that's when I knew... I, and our love, were no longer enough to inspire him.

And so he left for Italy and he found another inspiration. He found another muse in his wife. I don't know her. I've only seen her once, other than in photos of course. I came to a book signing of his a year ago, though, and she was there, beautiful and quiet and hovering at the edges of the crowd, looking over the folklore books. I steeled myself to go up to her and speak to her, but I couldn't. What would I say to her? What could I possibly say to her? '_Congratufuckinglations on winning the man I love'_? That would be petty and hateful, and I'm many things but I was raised better than to do something shitty like that and most especially, to a woman. I'm not a bastard. You just don't treat women like that.

As if feeling my heavy gaze on her, she had looked up at me for a moment before gently smiling and I swear I saw something in those pretty eyes of hers and it fucking _shamed_ me. It was like she knew who I was and almost like she was, well, call me crazy, but almost as if she was accepting me, _apologizing_ to me with her eyes and her gentle smile, but no, honestly, I think that was probably just wishful thinking on my part. She's probably just a sweet-natured girl who smiles at strangers in bookstores. I know Edward wouldn't have said squat about me to his wife... _or would he_?

Anyway, it's a moot point. As I said, I don't know her, and as far as I know she could be an amazing woman who truly loves Edward as I love Edward, and perhaps he is able to give to her _all _his love - every last damn gorgeous bit of it, even the public love that he could never give me. There was no need for secrecy, for privacy, for hiding - not with her, not with his pretty little wife. Yes, I admit, a shameful part of me resents her a little - maybe more than a little- but I have a feeling that if she weren't with the man I love, I'd like her just fine, and, regardless, I can't hate her. There's nothing in her that would incite hate in someone, not even having the man I love as her husband.

Edward never saw me that day. I couldn't do it to him, and I couldn't do it to myself. I didn't want to see the panic that would surely flare briefly in his eyes at the sight of me there. I didn't want to reopen old wounds, so I left, unsatisfied with my brief, curious glance back into his life, and for days afterward I was tormented with thoughts of him and what might have been had we remained together.

Despite the pain, though, it was a tremendously creative part of my life. I wrote three songs that evening. It's amazing how pain does that - the inspiration borne of suffering. I think I viewed myself as a sort of martyr for love. Now, I realize how indulgent and asinine that sounds, but at the time it's what I felt.

_And now... what now? What happens now? _

He called me after I saw him in the bookstore last night but he didn't leave a message. Still, I knew the number had to be his and stealing up my courage, along with the help of plenty of liquid courage, I called him. I almost hung up when he answered, his voice strained with something... emotion? I couldn't tell, but then, oh fuck, _then_, it all came out.

He murmured my name, and I answered him, my own voice thick with emotion. And I ached, God, I was burning alive for him. I wanted to kiss him, to bruise those soft lips and, with my kiss, pull forth from the depths of his soul the Edward I remembered, that I could never forget and would never stop loving. I wanted _my _Edward back, and talking to him, I couldn't help it, I got myself off, just listening to him, and he heard my strained breaths and took them for tears. That's alright. He wasn't wrong. I was crying the entire time. It was just too much... the sound of his velvet voice in my ear again, the feel of my hand against my cock, the love that still throbbed inside me, even stronger than the blood coursing right down to my nether regions.

As I talked with him, I could hear the question in his voice and I could almost envision the muscle jumping in his jaw - the only physical thing that sometimes gave away the intensity of his feeling, and it only served to excite me all the more - seeing him in my head like that. My mind was flickering on an image from our past again...

_Edward was laughing as he spread shaving cream thick and cool on my face as I sat on the bathroom counter facing him. He lifted the razor to my face and I grabbed his hand, worried that with his laughing the blade might accidentally slip. Edward shook that bright head of his at me for that, chuckling warm and low again, as he asked me to trust him and to just sit still and relax. And so I did. _

_I closed my eyes as I heard the whisper of the blade and felt the cool stroking of the metal against my jaw which contrasted with the heat of Edward's breath as it fanned silken and light across my face as he shaved me. I opened my eyes again to watch him. His lush mouth was open, his tongue working against his lower lip in concentration. I moaned at the sight, watching that beautiful face as I felt the slick dangerous glide of the blade against my neck and the feeling was intensely erotic - that feeling of utter trust, of yielding my throat to my lover, to the sharp blade he wielded as he stroked it gently, so gently, and slowly through the smooth shaving cream, against my skin and stubble. _

_Edward had grown excited too, seeing the heavy look of desire that burned in my eyes and he groaned, the blade slipping and nicking my throat, causing him to gasp, grabbing onto my arm, with a frantic, "Jasper! Oh god, I'm sorry, Angel..." _

_And without another word, he breathed softly, lowering his face to the crimson drop that welled from my neck and I groaned, my cock throbbing, swelling, near panting in desire as I felt him lap away the blood from my skin and I couldn't hold back. I grabbed him then, and his eyes widened, green fire flashing up at me, then darkening in passion as I pushed him to the bathroom floor, nearly ripping the shirt from him. Shaving cream dripped on his sleek muscled chest as I hovered over him, causing Edward to smile, moaning again, his hips arching sleek and perfect against me and I thought him to be the most gorgeous, delicious thing I'd ever seen in all my days. _

Lost in my memories for a moment, my hand slowly pumping up and down the hard length straining in my hand, I was almost startled when I heard his soft voice murmuring over the phone again about how he had to whisper, that _she_ was in the room next door. A small frown creased my forehead and I felt the throbbing ease some.

And all I wanted was to be there with him. I wanted to make him remember me and forget her. That's all I'd dreamed of for these past bitter years now... dreaming of kissing him again, ravaging his lips with my kiss, my mouth insistent in its demand to kiss and lick and suck the honeyed sweetness of the beautiful mouth that I so missed feeling move delicately under mine.

I could hear the hesitation in his voice and I wanted to encourage him. Yes, Edward, ask it. Ask me. Ask me if I still love you. _I do. I always will, even if I don't or can't express it as I should. _

Ask me if I want to learn you again, explore your soul and body all over again, _because I do_. Ask me if I remember holding you, kissing you, fucking you, loving you slow and deep..._because I've never forgotten, not ever, not even within the depths of my personal hell of loneliness_. I've never forgotten how sweet those times with you were, and I have always secreted away those precious memories in my soul.

Ask me if I can forgive you._ I don't know, but I want to try_. I resent what you did to me, what you did to us, but, _oh, Sweetheart, I love you more than I resent you_.

Ask me why I called you tonight. Just... Edward, darlin', you have to help me. You have to let me tell you and you have to help me. Pull the words from me, baby. Sweetly milk them from my lips as you used to do. _Oh god..._

I saw him then in my head lying there and I hovered above him, back where I belonged - home again - sheathed in the warm, tight, loving, velvet embrace of my beautiful lover. And I could feel his hands sliding up and down my back, my eyes drinking in the sight of him sprawled in the bed, that glorious, moon-bathed, ivory flesh and the thick bronze hair wild on his head and the emerald, sylvan-fired eyes that gleamed with desire, fanning my own to a hotter degree. Holding tight to Edward's sweat-sleek hips, I impaled him slowly, sliding and filling and stretching the warm, tight flesh that cradled me so perfectly, that I moaned low and deep in my throat, my head tipping back from my shoulders. I remembered entering him him inch-by-lush-throbbing-inch; filling him, stretching hot and hard and full inside him as he bucked up to meet me, his slick hips pressing tight to me, urging me deeper as he grasped my sweating back, scratching down my skin, his whispered words so fucking gorgeous and filthy. He arched taut below me, his beautiful, hard, silk-skinned length stroking against my stomach as I pushed harder and deeper inside him, needing to get as deep as possible, wanting to touch his very soul as he touched mine.

And then, as if he saw the wanton, remembered visions playing out in my head, as if he sensed my urgent, unspoken plea and my fevered desire and aching love for him still, Edward spoke then and I heard the emotion in his voice plainly now. He was crying, the feeling shaking him to his core as strongly as it was doing to me. He spoke in a whispered rush, almost as if he were afraid that if he didn't speak the words then, they'd never spill from his lips again. And each word was like... heaven, like golden light spilling over me again, warming me to my very soul.

My throat tight, I tried to tell him, in turn, how I felt, that I still loved him so much, _so fucking much_, but my drunken words failed me. But, I did manage to tell him that I missed him and I missed what we shared. I think he knew from my words, from my voice, how I felt, that I still loved him so much that it tore me up inside and he was the only one who could heal me - my beautiful Edward, the healer of my heart, the scribe of my soul.

He told me he wanted me again, and it stunned me into silence, and I worried that he would take my silence for rejection of the idea, for rejection of him, but Edward knows me better than that.

.._. Oh fuck, just breathe, Jasper..._

I wrote a song last night. I couldn't sleep anyway, and I find the early morning hours before dawn when the rest of the world is sleeping to be my most productive time. It was always Edward's as well, and we'd sit up together in bed, him with the laptop, me with my guitar and notebook, and we'd alternately help and _distract _each other.

I'm wondering if I should take him my song... no, it's _his _song - he inspired it - as he inspires everything in my life.

But today, sitting here in the cold light of dawn, the familiar anxieties are creeping up on me again and I'm scared as hell. We agreed to meet at the bookstore at ten. And now, oh dear sweet God, in just an hour, I'll see him again.

And then what? I asked him last night. His answer was simple. "We begin again," he said. I hope he means it. I hope with every fucking fiber of my heart that he means it because I can't take another ending.

~~*~~


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks to all of you who have left such wonderful reviews and PMs. It is *beyond* brilliant to read your comments on the story and I appreciate those comments (and __**you **__who leave them) so much! It really inspires me to write more! B__IG happy-huggy thanks to my beautiful beta BB Val, __**Touchstone67**__, for being so absolutely__** incredible**__! Her talent is scary it's so good, not to mention that she's a wonderful, giving, amazing, inspiring friend and I can't thank her enough for her artistic inspiration, the late-night chats and laughter and for just being so totally awesome! Mwah! Thanks, Sweetie! :D Also, BIG__ thanks to the wonderful girls on the __**Twilighted BA thread**__! (You rock so hard, every single one of you! Thank you so much, Meredith, _**mh1115, **_for starting the thread) and thank you to the awesome ladies of __**Twigasm,** too,__ for mentioning the story in their podcast! _

_Okay, so now for Chapter 3 - usual disclaimers: Twilight and the characters therein, as well as the ones I'm greedily borrowing for the story, belong to Stephanie Meyer. I'm just playing with them because I have impulse control issues when it comes to gorgeous men, especially these two! _

_**______**_

_**Begin Again **_

**Chapter 3 - Wicked and Wild Wind**

**~~*~~**

**Edward POV**

**~~*~~**

_The ghost is back, my precious phantom who dances like a dervish through my head every night... tightening through my body, beating through my heart, singing through my soul, and I know I must moan in my sleep, tossing sweaty in the bed beside her, my hands tangling in the sheets, sense memory tingling my fingertips._

_I'm dreaming of the satin glide of my fingers against sweat-slick, muscled __flesh and against gorgeous ripe lips - swollen from our kisses - that slide around my fingers sucking them into a sweet, silken mouth with a husky muffled groan, the sun setting soft in those amazing wide eyes before they close and heavy lashes fall against the curve of his cheek. _

_I moan, feeling the erotic nip of white teeth against my fingers as he sucks them deeper inside his beautiful mouth and I move atop him, feeling his hands glide down my back, smoothing the coiled, bunched muscles. The slow firm suckling is maddening and I rock against him wanton and needy as he slicks my fingers with his hot tongue. I gaze down at those carved cheeks, hollowed with his erotic effort, before I pull my dripping fingers, from him. His eyes open again and I hold his smoldering gaze and caress wet and tender against his buttocks, breaching the sweet, succulent heat of his tight body._

I awaken with a start as I feel the bed move, then, a gentle touch to my shoulder, and I open my eyes to see soft brown eyes gazing back at me.

_Oh god... dear God, does she know? Have my restless dreams betrayed me?_ _Did I say his name in my sleep? _

Her voice is soft, though, not accusing, as she reaches up to stroke the sweaty hair back from my forehead and presses a kiss to my temple, whispering, "_Bad dream_?"

_And what do I say to that? Oh no... not a bad dream. A good dream, a beautiful dream... a dream I want to live again... and again. A dream from which you will surely awaken me with your tender kiss, not knowing how badly I will resent you for that or how the guilt will squat in my heart like a black thing __then for feeling that resentment, resentment you don't deserve, my sweet Bella. _

I answer her with a shake of my head, unable to qualify anything about Jasper as '_bad_'. Glancing at the bedside clock, my heart leaps into my throat as I see I only have two hours before I'll be seeing the very object of my heated dreams and searing memories.

"I'm just restless, love. With the book out next week, I suppose I'm just anxious. I'm not sleeping well."

I sit up in the bed and I feel her hand stroke drowsily against my bare back and for a moment, another wave of crippling guilt assails me, but I can't let the black thing crush me, not when everything else in me is chafing and bucking like a hemmed-in horse, dying to leap the paddock fence to seek out the wild freedom that I've only ever known once in my life - when Jasper loved me enough to run alongside me, racing with the wind and the primal passion of our youth and our love. I smile at the vision, my Texan, my gorgeous, wild mustang. Wild and free with the wind in his heavy hair and the sun burning in his eyes and the sleek muscles coiled with that inner strength that informs his every graceful movement.

Sighing, I rise from the bed and turn to look at my wife as she curls, sleepy and small in the bed, so trusting, so sweet that it breaks my fucking heart. Tears burning in my eyes, I reach down to stroke the dark hair back from her face. "B, I'm going to jump in the shower and then I'm heading out for my breakfast meeting."

She doesn't respond; her breathing even and slow. Yes, she's asleep.

Well, perhaps that is for the best anyway.

~*~

I can't bring myself to go into the bookstore.

Not yet.

_Fuck, I'm such a coward. _

It's true. I'm terrified. I feel like an anxious adolescent all over again - all sweaty nerves and itchy palms and jittery heart. And ah, God, this heart of mine stutters and jumps in my chest like a mad hare, the pounding of it throbbing to the beat of the music Jasper recorded there. The song he imprinted on my heart.

This frantic, illogical heart of mine, how could anyone treasure it?

I know Jasper did.

And I hope he still does.

_Oh Angel, if I could, I would unzip my body and give you my heart - crimson and alive again in your presence, throbbing with the life with which you quicken it._

My heart belongs to him anyway. It's been his from the start, as is my soul. When we parted, I might as well have been a zombie lurching through life - soulless, heartless without him to sing a ray of light to me and save me from the darkness of my own making. I needed him, but I was too stubborn, entirely too prideful and too ashamed to go to him, but I so needed him.

When we were together, he banished the winter that ruled frozen and supreme in my soul with the summer of his dimpled smile and the springtime glory of his sweet eyes.

I feel my mind drift, turning inward, seeing again the visions from the past that still haunt me.

***

I see Jasper sitting on the kitchen counter, shirtless and barefoot, dressed in only his oldest, most sexily worn-in Levis. He's laughing as he pulls me between his legs, his arms loose around my neck. I feel the hard muscles in his denim-clad thighs as I massage them, leaning into him, chuckling soft, heated breaths against his collarbone, decorating the smooth skin with tender, blooming bites of passion.

He wraps his legs around me and I'm growling at the feel of him - this warm, loving bundle of beautiful boy in my arms. His soft drawl caresses over my ear as he murmurs, "_Mmmm... my man. Love you, E_."

I answer him with a smiling nip to his neck and he sighs huskily and it's the sweetest sound I've ever heard. I slide my hands down to grasp his waist, caressing over the warm, pale flesh, my thumbs circling against the dip of his pelvis revealed by the low-slung jeans. His hands slide and stroke down my back, fingers soft against my spine and his lips brush silken against my temple and my mussed hair, and I realize then with perfect clarity that I should commit this moment to memory because it is perfection. My angel who holds me and gives me heaven on earth.

~*~

Swallowing around the tight heat that builds in my throat at the memory, I rub my burning eyes and look at the bookstore again.

I wonder if he is already inside waiting for me? And, if so, is he wound taut with nerves, long fingers drumming against the table, his leg jumping with tension? I can see him there in my mind, and I feel him. I know he's here. I know he's waiting, and I'm making him wait as I always do. And I don't know what's wrong with me, why I do these things. I know I'm causing him fresh pain and I wonder if he knows I barter my desire-wrapped pain unfairly for the loving balm he gives in return. Pain for pleasure. My loving, giving Jasper.

I know it's so unfair and I ache to think of him sitting there with his coffee, licking those curved lips, wide eyes darting nervously to the door, waiting...waiting, his impatience tempered by his love. I know I should go to him, but I wonder if by going to him if I'm inflicting more pain? To stay and go to him, or to turn and leave... which is kind, which is cruel?

...

Regardless, it doesn't matter because I _have_ to see him.

My decision is made. I cannot let him slip away from me again. I cannot leave him again.

~*~

I was right. He's here already but he's not sitting there nervous and waiting for me. No, Jasper is at the counter, leaning long and sexy against it, a lazy grin glittering on that beautiful, sculpted face, his shirt riding up in the back a bit as he points to something on the display shelf, granting me the most exquisite view of that taut backside.

He's talking and laughing with the barista, who had given me his number yesterday. She's pretty - a petite brunette with spiky black hair like a punk princess porcupine.

...

Alright, I know that is unfair.

I know my irritation and envy is getting the better of me. I can't help it though.

He is giving _her_ that devil-may-care grin I have so missed and those flirty eyes that dance with the flame of new stars. He's giving her the look _I want_; the Jasper _I_ _need_ to look back at me; the sexy, insouciant Jasper that I remember. _My_ Jasper.

And he's looking at _her_.

I clear my throat and try to casually stroll up behind him, but she, Princess Porcupine, sees me and blows my cover, smiling brightly, her voice trilling out, "_Oh! It's you again_! _Look! It's your friend, Jazzy_!"

_Jazzy? _Shit... it's worse than I thought. How _close_ are they?

Jasper turns to me, and while I wasn't expecting wide-eyed excitement or a giddy grin, I note with more than a little trepidation that he just turns and regards me_ calmly_, leaning back against that damn counter again as he crosses his arms and greets me, and his voice is laced with... _something_. I can't tell what emotion it is that coats every syrup-and-sugar-drawled word.

I'm not a mind-reader but I know, regardless, that he's doing _it _again. Donning the mask. I know my Jasper. My gorgeous, honest cowboy who lives his life so true to who he is and what he believes, yet covers the veracity of his emotions with that cavalier mask of laconic calm.

I see the fire burning in his eyes, the fire of emotion that gives proof to the lie he's trying to project. I see the feelings sparking through him as sharp and hot as they scorch through me.

"Jasper. Thank you for meeting me this morning."

He nods and I hate the tension that glitters like sharp ice between us. Finally, he turns again to Princess Porcupine and asks her for a coffee to go.

I feel a flare of sheer panic rising in me._ He's leaving? Is that it? _

I stutter out quickly, "Uhm, please...yes, make that two, miss. I mean, well, just one for me since... I don't know if I should... on second thought, please just make that two coffees to go - large, black, double-shot...to go."

I see a dimple form in Jasper's cheek as I stumble and blush my way through my order.

Smug bastard! He knows what he's doing to me.

He's laughing now - that familiar, low, velvety snicker, and I shoot him a look over my shoulder as he grins, widely this time, and despite my flustered embarrassment, I can't help but return his grin.

Then, Princess Porcupine is handing Jasper an_ iced _coffee and I glance from his drink to him as he shrugs and mutters with another damnable grin at the barista, _"Thank you, Sweetheart. It's too damn hot for regular coffee!"_.

And now I have _two_ hot coffees to tote around like a mentally-challenged java-junkie.

Well, that's fucking brilliant

I take the coffees from Princess Porcupine, who flashes a perky smile at me and cheerfully informs me of the inflated prices for the damn drinks. I can feel the muscle twitching in my jaw as I count out the bills, handing them to her and thanking her. She calls out as we turn to go,_ "Enjoy your coffees and conversation, boys! Bye, Jazzy!"_

I'm annoyed, but I'm trying to hold on to my dignity which is difficult with Jasper smirking at me over his shoulder, telling me I better drink up before my double-dose of coffee goes cold. I purse my lips at that, muttering. "Stuff it, Jay."

He laughs and makes some sarcastic crack that I don't really catch but as he tosses that wide, dimpled grin at me, I can feel some of my humiliation-induced irritation burn away. He turns to face me, walking backward as he sips on his iced coffee and I try not to stare at those ripe, satiny lips as they wrap around the straw. I swallow and I know he sees it, the effect he's having on me, that he's always had on me.

And I wonder if I might still have a similar effect on him.

"It's a beautiful morning, Jasper. Why don't we talk a stroll through the park and talk?"

I see his eyes spark and he smiles, nodding his wavy head at my suggestion. I knew he would like that idea. My nature boy. My Jasper, with his hair like summer wheat and eyes like new grass; his laughter like a river rolling warm and clear, and his love as bright and life-giving as sunlight.

I watch his loose-limbed stride and I smile. Jasper is forever in motion. Even in bed when sleeping, he was always restless, always tossing and turning, stealing the sheets from me, rolling atop me, all loose, sleepy, long limbs and sharp elbows. I miss those painful elbows. I ache to feel them digging into my side again, those long legs sprawling over and through mine, to feel the humid weight of his soft, drowsing breath against my neck. I long to wake up next to him, to see the morning light gilding that peaceful, fine-featured face resting on the pillow next to mine or nestled into my neck, his scruffy jaw scraping with delicious friction against my skin.

He's tossing that smile at me again now and, truly, it's like basking in heaven's light - that sweet, beloved smile. I watch him turn back around sauntering ahead of me, anxious to get outdoors again to walk. When Jasper needs to really think clearly about something, he walks or rather, he paces. He nearly wore a path in the living room carpet of our old apartment when he was trying to work out a song in his head, or when he was on the phone working out issues with his music.

Jasper is a session musician. He chafes at it, I know. He wants and deserves to be making his own music, not laboring behind another person - bestowing loaned talent and glory on them, but Jasper doesn't have the confidence to believe he can strike out on his own and make a success of himself. I always tried to support and encourage him to play his own music. He's a genius musician - the words and music flowing like golden honey from his voice and fingers, and yet, he still waits for the right moment to make his own independent foray into the music world as a solo artist.

I used to watch him writing his music in his journals and something about the intimacy of him writing out his poetry set to the beautiful music of his heart was such a sensual sight, the pen rolling, ink flowing over the paper, a sable stream. Jade eyes gleaming, he would bend over his guitar to write in his notebook that rested on the coffee table before him, one hand reaching up to tuck an errant lock of blond hair behind his ear as he concentrated, a pink tongue tracing over those full, beautiful lips. I would stare at him, captivated by the curve of his neck, the agility of his mind, the determined set to his mouth.

Lost in the memory, I stroll behind him as he strides out into the sun, the light caressing over the golden waves of his hair. He laughs as I stop at the trash can outside the bookstore and toss both coffees inside it.

I don't need them. I have all I need right now in front of me - my angel with his devilish grin.

~*~

The park is nearly empty at this time of the morning as Jasper and I walk side-by-side together in the companionable silence we had once enjoyed and have picked up again easily, unspoken language flowing between us - the language of looks and the glancing brush of our hands against one another.

Even so, I know we should talk and I sense the storm inside him, his desire to say whatever he is warring with himself to say to me, but he remains silent, as do I.

I can feel the slow heat building inside me, and I clench my fist to control it. Jasper feels the tension in my hand and glances down at the one nearest him, covering it with his own warm, broad hand and I sigh, a shaky breath escaping me at that tender, reassuring touch. He smiles and gazes into my eyes and_ I'm lost..._

I want to know him again. I_ need _to know him again _inside_ and out, _literally_ and figuratively. I turn my hand in his, grasping his fingers as I lean into him, my breath warm as it stirs against Jasper's ear, ruffling the hair above it lightly, and I murmur into his ear. "I want to _open_ you like a book, Jasper, and know every inch of you again..."

He moans and I sigh then, leaning my head into his, the sexual longing and the aching love for my ex-lover, still my beloved, burning through my psyche, this need that stirs and rouses - hungry and attentive- inside me for Jasper. It is a desire that goes beyond the physical, a love that nearly undoes me as I slide my other hand down to take his, entwining his long fingers with my own. Every pounding pulse of my heart rushes through me, beating in my chest, my head, my cock, like a drum, the throbbing growing more insistent as he slides his hard thigh between my own and we gaze at each other - a world of love and anxiety and guilt and desire whirling in those green depths. "Please, Jasper, oh God, baby..."

I trail off, licking my lips in anticipation. Words aren't needed. Not right now. All I need is him, his lips, his arms, his love.

I can feel my body trembling with pent-up desire as I lean into him, savoring the moment, the feel of that breath against my face, soft across my lips, as I feel him release one of my hands, palming up my back with a soft sigh before gently sliding his hand into my hair, tangling his fingers in it as he pulls me in with something that almost sounds like... _what? A sigh of desire? Of defeat? _

I don't have long to muse on it before he's angling that lush mouth against my own and I can feel those succulent lips against mine and I nearly cry at the touch, the warmth, the taste of him as our mouths meet and I feel a shiver of sensation fire up my spine, melting it as surely as a flame. I'm groaning, the sound muffled against that soft - so soft - warmth, that moist satiny sweetness as he presses his lips to mine, almost tentatively sliding his lips against and between my own.

It's almost too much pure sensation and I'm nearly whimpering now at the tight, hot feeling that surges through me, cock throbbing, at the feel of that lush mouth pressed so intimately to mine, and I gasp as I feel him pull back a bit, panting soft fragrant breaths against my lips as he whispers my name in that slow husky drawl.

"Edward..."

I smile against his lips, nodding slightly. "Yes, baby."

_My Jasper..._

Then I lean forward to take his lips again, this kiss hotter, and I am unable to resist the pleasure that curls up my belly and purrs in my loins as he kisses me back, caressing my lips so slowly, so sensually, with his own, gently laving his tongue against my lower lip, softly across it, tracing it smooth and slow, then below it, teasing, nibbling my bottom lip gently, before soothing it between the pillow-like softness of his own lips, settling in for a slow, wet suckling.

I groan, my hands sliding around his back, my cock throbbing harder, so insistent, as I pull from those drugging lips to whisper, "Please, can we go to your place? Jasper, oh fuck, please..?"

He stares at me, a storm waging behind the verdant depths of his eyes, then, finally, he nods and my heart leaps inside me, anticipation racing like a wire in the blood through my system.

Jasper is fire, and I ache to burn and melt in his heat.

Those amazing eyes are bright, smoldering, but keen as blade as he watches me, a secret smile playing over his ripe, moist lips, and my thoughts are centered on the kindling to the fire of my heart -- the brilliant blazing love of my life, the beautiful man standing here in the warm morning light with me.

All my life it seems all I really wanted, or needed, was this, just love, just_ him_, though I realize with a sharp pain of icy regret that my actions speak otherwise. But I cannot deny the truth of my heart. I yearn for this Love like lightning that strikes my soul, setting it aflame, burning it in a brazen, shimmering glory.

Love. It's there in the smolder of dancing jade eyes, in the melting smoothness of the honeyed mead voice, in the angelic curls of wild blond hair, in his hands that sear me with pleasure, his body that scorches me with desire -- a beauty that is ultimately, deliciously incendiary. I love him. I yearn for him. I burn for him. A moth to his loving, luscious flame.

~*~

The fire scorching through us, we're barely in the door of his apartment before I'm grabbing his shoulders with a guttural growl, pushing him backward against the couch. He grins slow and thoroughly wickedly up at me - a grin I return in just as salacious a fashion - as I fall to the couch and pull him into my lap, fisting my hands through that torrent of warm curls, pulling his neck back as I lean in to bite at the skin there, sucking, licking, claiming. His skin is warm and salty beneath my tongue as I rasp it over the stubble on his neck, breathing in the scent of him, all my senses reeling at the nearness of him again, the feel of him.

He's groaning, throbbing hot and hard against me and it's so fucking perfect I wonder if I can die of this. Of having gone so long without this heady, incomparable pleasure that I feel I will surely burst into an inferno from finally feeling it again.

Jasper palms down my back, nails lightly scratching at my shirt, soothing the shaking of my body against him as he tilts his head to take my lips again, moving his mouth against mine. He kisses me so slowly. He's almost languorous in his sensuality. His full bottom lip slides against the moist seam between my own, then with a soft moan, he runs the hot, silky tip of his tongue against my top lip, panting softly against my mouth, one hand at my hip now, stroking it firmly, kneading and_ needing_.

My heart and cock are pounding again at the taste and feel of Jasper and I want him. I want to slide inside that tight velvet embrace and roll my hips deep and smooth and swirl my aching cock inside the warm sheath of his body as he groans and grips me tighter with his arms and legs, a sweaty unrelenting clench, his hips driving up to meet mine.

I want to feel him thrusting, slowly and lushly opening my body to his love. I want to feel that hot, hard length swelling with every inch that I take him in, that exquisite pleasure-pain that makes my nerves jangle and dance as he rolls his hips, pushing so hard that I'm grasping his sweat-slicked back, scratching the smooth, flexing muscles that undulate with each rhythmic, slow but deep thrust.

Lost in my want, in my delirious anticipatory fantasies of what I want for us today, I rock against him, grinding my erection hard into his, gripping his hips as I twist mine, rolling my hard cock over his, the friction making me near delirious and he cries out, pulling from the kiss with a low groan.

"Fuck, I missed you," he mutters and I lean in to kiss him hard, tasting the flavor of his desire, his need that is equal to my own.

With a soft purring growl of desire, I push him backwards against the couch and slide atop him. He flashes a crooked, dimpled grin at me and groans hot and lusty against my mouth as we kiss. His tongue slides between my lips and it's as sweet and lush and warm as I remembered, _better than I remember _- tasting of his toothpaste and his coffee and that indefinable flavor that is just Jasper. I'm so hungry, kissing him with an almost feverish intensity, a hunger borne of love and long-bottled passion that burns and rolls hot and sweet through my veins, sparking along every inch of my nerves.

Jasper is a firestorm and he's burning me alive on a pyre of desire.

I feel his erection throbbing tight and hard and heated against my own and I pull from his mouth, panting huskily. "I want you, Jasper."

I'm lost in the haze now of pure sensation, pure desire, pure Jasper Whitlock - all seduction and sexy-sweet sensuality.

He rolls me under him, nearly tucking me beneath him, and I frown at this shift in power, but then he's kissing my forehead, kissing away the furrowed lines there as he nudges his thigh under mine, lifting it so that he can rock smooth and hot against me. I groan at the feel of that hard throbbing heat against my own, my head falling back against the couch even as he leans in to kiss me again. He presses his lips firmer against mine, his mouth moving hard and hungry now, anxious as he urges me with lips and tongue and soft, begging breath, to let him inside my mouth and I wonder if he means his tongue or his cock. Both are welcome.

I want him inside me in every sense and I want inside of him. I want him entirely.

Those swollen lips and that satiny, swirling ribbon of tongue send fire licking through my senses and my body tightens even more, my cock heavy and hot with blood and desire as I arch into those hips grinding down unmercifully against my own. I feel Jasper's hands sliding over to toy with the buttons of my shirt, pressing his face to my neck again; long lashes fluttering against my skin with the delicate beat of a butterfly's wings, a contrast to the hard, insistent heat of our erections as I buck into him and he grinds down into me. I slide my hand down cupping him through his jeans and he groans my name and I can feel him twitching, swelling beneath my fingers.

He's growling against my ear, even as my own breath escapes me in stuttering gasps of fire-sharpened desire, my back bowing off the couch, arching into that lean, lithe body above me. I move my hands to hold tight to those twisting hips, holding them down to my own, and I feel Jasper lift himself a bit. I feel him trembling against me as he reaches down to unbutton and unzip his jeans, his hot gaze locked on mine and I nod, licking over my kiss-swollen lips, breathing hard through my nose now as I lift my hand to caress his cheek.

Something snaps in his eyes then, the deep, desire-darkened pools widening as he grows stiff and still above me, his jaw tense, his throat working silently.

Confused, I cup his neck with my hand, looking into those stormy eyes. "Jasper...? Honey, what is it? What's wrong?"

I stroke his cheek again, the whiskers there tickling against my hand, but he flinches away from my touch, grabbing my wrist as he shakes his sweat-dampened head and sits up with a low moan.

I sit up beside him, reaching to turn his face toward me again, needing to see the conflict that is raging in those eyes again, to try to understand, but he glares at my hand... no, it's my _ring. _He's glaring at my wedding ring.

He slides away from me, zipping his jeans again, then pushes his hand back through his hair as he gazes up at the ceiling and asks, his voice hoarse with emotion, "Edward, what _the fuck _are we doing?"

The black thing is back squatting in my heart but I'm trying to ignore it. It's massive and brutal and the hellish thing seems to have taken up permanent residence inside me.

"What do you mean, Jay? You know as well as I do what we're doing."

He looks at me then, his gaze accusing and it angers me but I control my anger, not wanting to spark his to a higher level. Still, I can't resist saying, "Don't look at me like that when you were grinding as hard against me as I was against you, Jasper. You want it as badly as I do. Not to point out the screamingly obvious, but it rather takes two to tango."

"I don't care if we're doing the fucking Texas two-step, Edward! We shouldn't be doing it... any of this, _at all_, man! It's wrong! You're fucking married for Godsakes! I can't _take_ you, Edward, because... because I can't _have_ you! You're not mine to take or to have. You tossed me aside two years ago and..."

I shake my head, trying desperately to halt the flow of those vitriol-flamed words. Our passion from earlier now serves to fuel the fire of his anger. His words are ripping at my soul - the inferno in his eyes burning me to ashes, and I am tied to the stake of my own regrets, my cowardice and refusal to accept who I truly am and whom I truly love. I deserve to burn for how I've betrayed and abandoned him... he who is still so precious to me.

_Yes, Sweetheart. Do it. Purify me with your fire. Scorch away all the artifice till all that is left is my heart, my soul, my love for you._

Even as these thoughts circle in my head, I hold up my hand to stop his angry words, which only serves to incite his pent-up bitterness all the more.

"NO! Don't hold up your hand to me. I'm not your damn dog that you can just command, Edward!"

His eyes are flaring hot and I see the vein pulsing in his neck. I need to calm him down before he works himself up into even more of a frenzy, "Jasper, please. Okay, you're right. You're absolutely right. I _am _married, and I won't deny it's wrong, but... I can't deny how I feel about you. Good God, don't tell me that you don't feel it, too. We never got over each other, Jay. We never moved on."

"Really?!" His voice is sharp with anguish, his eyes burning a missile of pain right through me. "You sure as hell fooled me - jetting off to Italy, marrying a woman! What the fuck, Edward?! What did I do to deserve that?"

I see the tears in those bright eyes and it feels like my heart will shatter into a million sharp fragments. I reach for his hand and he acts as if he will pull it away from me but I won't let go... of his hand or my love for him.

"Jasper, I'm so sorry. I'm truly sorry."

The words are spilling quick and free from me now - all that I'd yearned to say to him for years now. "Sweetheart, I'm so sorry for ever hurting you, for leaving you. It was the most heartless, horrible, stupid thing I've ever done in my life and all I want is to make it up to you, to earn your forgiveness, and perhaps, if I'm truly fortunate, your love again, because I still love you so much, Jasper. Please believe me. I love you so much and I'm so sorry I ever hurt you."

He swallows hard, tears standing in his eyes as he blinks and rubs angrily at them, shaking his head as he mutters; his voice calmer but so steely and I think to myself that I preferred the fire over this ice. He shakes his head, gazing down at the floor now, not at me, as he speaks with a deadly glum finality.

"No, Edward. I won't let you play your games with me. You are not mine to have. The truth of the matter is you don't have the right to give yourself to me or anyone, save your wife. You made a vow, Edward, to _her_, not to me. You left me. You love her. It's simple. Go back home to your wife, Edward."

It feels like a weight - heavier even than the guilt - is crushing my chest. This is an anvil forged of pure black iron, regret and pain and it's squeezing the life from me.

I can see Jasper visibly trembling, his hand clenching into a fist as he pulls it away from me. And even though he pulls from me, I have to try again. "Jasper, please... Bella and I.. we.... it's been hard lately. We've been having marital issues. We've even been to see a marital counselor but..."

"Does _Bella_ know about _me_?" He interrupts. "Does she know you had a long-term relationship with another man? Does she know that you're..." He waves his hand in irritation, "...whatever the hell you're classifying yourself as this week, either a very closeted gay man in denial or a closeted bisexual, Edward?"

I blanch. Sometimes I really hate his honesty and forthright nature. He's trying to hurt me now. I understand. I hurt him. Jasper has so much pride he could choke on it. He's looking at me again and I lick my lips, my eyebrows drawing together.

He sighs then, leaning his head back against the couch with a soft, ironic laugh as he rubs his temple and mutters, "Of course she doesn't know. So you just thought that since you're having marital issues and you're fucking horny that you'd give me another shot. Get you a little on the side, is that it?"

"No! Of course that's not it, Jasper."

He looks at me and I frown, my mouth opening to speak again, my eyes aching with unshed tears. He sighs then and mutters before I can speak, "Okay, I'll grant that maybe you still feel something for me and..."

"I_ love_ you, Jasper!" It is now my turn to interrupt and I can't hold back the tide of my emotion now. "I feel a great deal of _something_ for you, a great deal of _love_! I always have!"

He turns to me then, naked agony in his eyes. "Then why was it so easy for you to leave me, Edward?" He shakes his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he continues, his voice ragged and strained. "I need you to go. I can't... I _can't_ do this. I _won't _do this! Listen, the little prince needs to realize that money and delusions of royalty aside, you are _not _entitled. You do not get everything you want, and you are not automatically entitled to _me_. Life just doesn't work that way. If it did, I'd still have you."

The bitterness in his voice is not surprising but it hurts me nonetheless. Even so, I can't resist reaching for his hand again, grasping it tightly, not allowing him to pull it back from me. "NO, Jasper..."

Then, I'm gripping that gorgeous, tear-stained face in my hands, kissing it, tears burning in my own eyes and for a moment I feel his lips move against mine, and I taste his sigh and the salt of his tears, then he is pushing me from him again as he stands up from the couch, shaking his head. "Edward, go home to your wife."

"Jasper, no. I... I love you. I miss you. I need you."

"Edward...please! If you truly have any fucking shred of love in your heart for me, you'll leave me now before my heart bleeds all over the floor and all over those damn expensive shoes of yours. Go. I can't do this, baby. You _have _to go, Edward."

I have to try one last ditch effort. I so want to hold him, to kiss away those tears, to soothe and love him and make all the promises I've ever made to anyone to him, to live up to those promises, to give him every reassurance he needs... _anything_. And finally I ask the question that is most important of all. "Do you still love me, Jasper?"

His eyes widen. "How can you ask me that?! Stop, Edward... please! Oh fuck, you're killing me. Just go... _please_..."

His face is a mask of agony and I feel the rending torment inside me as well to see him like this, to see _us_ like this, and as he begs me to leave again, I feel a strangled almost-sob wrest its way from my throat and I reach for him but he shakes his head with a soft, low growl and moves away from me.

I watch him out of tear-blurred eyes as he grabs his wallet and keys from the counter and strides toward the door, turning to me, his voice tired and resigned. "Alright, Edward. Have it your way. You left me two years ago and you left me a broken wreck and I still haven't put all the broken pieces of myself back together. I won't let you break me again. If you won't leave, I'm leaving you."

"Jasper!" I gasp, leaping up after him, slamming shut the door behind me, pounding down the stairs after him as he breaks into a run. I run after him, thinking of my vision from the morning, of running with him. _This is not what I had in mind_.

He dashes into the garage of the apartment building and I run in after him, my heart pounding; a stitch in my side. I reach him where he stands beside a sleek black motorcycle, and I bend, holding my knees as I catch my breath. The tumult of emotion sucking at my psyche, sapping me of energy.

"Edward! Goddamn! You're a stubborn bastard!" He straddles the bike and on impulse I move to slide in behind him, but he pushes at me, shaking his blond head, his wide eyes wild as he tells me, "No! We're done! Okay, get that through that thick head of yours! Go home to Bella, Edward. Go back to your bright career. Go back in your damn closet."

I grab at the handlebars of the motorcycle, desperate to keep him there with me but he knocks my hands away, starting up the bike and I step back as it roars to life, that grinding roar echoing the roar of tightly reined-in regret and pain and lost love that blasts through my head and devastates my heart.

I see the telltale gleam of tears against his cheeks that will be blown away by the wild and wicked wind he will ride into now. I reach for him again, but he shakes his head, releasing the throttle and pressing the clutch of the bike, making it roar again. I can barely hear him over it as he looks up at me and says the words that serve to throw me into a tailspin, making my guilt all the keener, my love all the stronger, my anguish all the more rending.

"Yes, Edward. I still fucking love you."

With a final growl of determination, I reach out for him again, but he starts the bike and I cry out as he roars from the garage, flying out into the day, escaping, _leaving me_, my heart flung into the wild with him.


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: *waves*** As before, I just want to say how grateful I am to all of you who have left me such wonderful reviews and PMs about the story. I couldn't be more pleased that you're enjoying it! Thank you! Special thanks and hugs to **Oh Jasper My Jasper, Beautiful Figment, **and **PolkaDotMama** for all the wonderful, amusing and insightful conversations about our gorgeous Jasper and Edward. I could happily talk about them forever! _

_A__s always, massive happy hugs and HUGE thanks to my **wonderful** BB and Twinner, Val, __**Touchstone67**__, for being such a peach, such an incredible beta and such a wonderfully inspiring, beautiful, and talented dear friend! Thanks, Sweetie, for all the laughter and inspiration and chats and gifts of yourself! You are amazing and I love you dearly! :D_

_Okay, so now for Chapter 4 - usual disclaimers: __**Twilight**__ and the characters therein, as well as the ones I'm happily man-napping for the story, belong to Stephanie Meyer. I'm just playing with them because I *loves* them so much! _

_**~~*~~**_

**_BEGIN AGAIN_ **

**Chapter 4 - **_**Stare Across This Ocean**_

~~*~~

**Jasper POV**

**~~*~~**

I figure if I ride hard enough, fast enough, I can burn my way straight into that fucking sun that blazes down - all heat and light - like God mocking me. All that damn beauty in the face of all the pain that rips through my heart and my guts, tearing my soul away from me - leaving me empty.

This is what I do. I ride. When I can't deal, I react. Action... hell, that's the perfect escape - just go, just get the fuck out of Dodge.

_Dodge_... yeah, that's what I just did. I dodged a bullet with my name on it - big and silver-sleek shiny - meant for one renegade Jasper Whitlock from my beloved assassin.

I'll ride till my gas runs out, or I reach the ocean - whichever comes first... probably the ocean. I filled the bike up two days ago. I'll go to La Push. It's quiet there. I can just... be. Just sit by the ocean, let the waves and the sun lull me, and maybe I won't think.

Of course, I'm probably fooling myself because even now the thoughts are swarming in my head like the fire ants I grew up around back home. You couldn't live in Texas without being bit multiple times by the damn little shits and it hurt like hell - they'd swarm up your legs and dig in and it felt like fire blazing through your blood. I hated the fuckers, but I also hated having to wear jeans in the dog days of summer, too, so I learned to deal.

That's what it's like with these crazy, biting thoughts. I've learned to deal with them when they're swarming over me, biting into my head, my soul, and I wish there was a way to banish them, banish the gnawing thoughts, but that would mean banishing my memories and, bad as they hurt, I'm not willing to do that. I won't give up one precious, painful memory for anything.

And now, I've another memory to add to the fire ant bed - the stinging one from today.

Seeing Edward again, feeling him again, tasting him again, it was like the sweetest, ripest, most goddamn forbidden fruit on the planet, and I got just enough of a taste to crave him all over again, for my body to sing with desire once more, that never-forgotten love pulsing rhythmic and insistent inside me for my storm-bringer, my beautiful muse who awakens the art of pain-wracked love inside me. It's sick the power he holds over me, that force so great as to shatter my mind and heart in its wake. It's primitive magic - all wanton beauty and soft words and strong, twining arms and legs and sweaty sex and broken promises and flashing verdant eyes.

It's a power so primal and so fucking erotic - sex magic, love bonding, pain and beauty wrapped tight around each other - a seductive wizardry only Edward Cullen wields. He knows I want him. He knows I want him with everything inside me. He knows I still love him. I do and I always will, even if that love eats away at my soul like a famished wolf, a certain wild beauty in the primitive savagery of that devouring.

What if I'd just given in to him today? God... what would it have hurt me to just once more give in to him? I wanted to see those jewel-bright eyes and copper-bronze hair sparking in the low light as Edward slid down the couch, kissing down my sweat-dampened skin, his tongue swirling soft and seductive against me.

I wanted to fist my fingers in that messy hair, to feel the thick, soft strands of it brushing against my skin as he teased his tongue in hot designs over and over me until I'm practically panting below him, arching, begging, my cock near purple with need. I wanted to feel him breathing humid and warm against my stomach and nuzzling into me, kissing, licking, that lush-lipped sweet fucking mouth slowly moving lower until I'm groaning, the sticky tip of my cock stroking against that gorgeous face of his, slicking over that firm jaw. Then, he'd turn his head then to take the head of my cock into his mouth, moaning soft and husky around me, and the vibrations of it combined with the feel of the wet, silky warmth of that hot, perfect mouth slowly sucking me off would make me lose my damn mind.

God knows I want to drown again in the bliss of his body, to feel such hot pleasure singing through me that it feels my very nerves are fusing. I want to melt into the heat of that strong, sleek body and stroke all those smooth, firm lines of pale, unmarred perfection. I want him so much it fucking hurts... it's like an ache in my soul that never stops hurting, a craving never satisfied. I feel like parched ground waiting for the cool bliss of his rain.

I just want to feel it again, feel _him_ again, to feel us rolling sweaty and urgent together, our bodies rising and falling to meet one another in sinuous, remembered rhythm, panting into each others' mouths, breathing his breath, tasting his kiss.

But...much as I fucking ache for him, though, I know I can't keep him, and if I'd stayed at the apartment with him, if we'd had sex, he'd have gotten up from the couch - body sweaty and shining, cheeks flushed from exertion and shame, lips red, swollen and bruised from kissing and the sharp nips of my teeth, and he'd have just hunched over on the couch, covering that beautiful face, back to his brooding and lies and shame once the deed was done. And I'd have felt angry and hurt, tossed aside and in no mood to entertain his hypocritical moaning about how we should never have given in to our baser desires, about what a horrible person he was and how he was hurting me and his wife.

I don't need a damn crystal ball to know exactly how that _sweet_ little situation would have gone down. I don't need that shit, and neither does Edward.

But, damn heartsick fool that I am, I still need _him_ and I hate that!

With a growl, I lean over the bike, revving it as fast as I can get it to go. I wonder if I could spin off the axis of the planet itself, just keep going... faster and faster, spin right out into the stars? Those stars that glitter like his eyes... those eyes I can't get out of my head. Those eyes begging me, pleading with me to stay, to love him again.

_Fuck, Edward, I never __**stopped**__ loving you. __**I never will**__. I wish to hell I could stop, but you're part of me now and you're stuck tight to my soul, my soul that you're ripping apart again with those sharp white teeth and those clever hands of yours. _

I know I'm probably being melodramatic, but fuck, if that isn't exactly what it feels like to me. Only... truthfully, what I'm feeling defies description. All I know is that I hurt. I hurt keener than I ever have. Keener, sharper and more bruising than even that morning I woke up and finally accepted the truth that Edward was gone and that he wasn't coming back. He left me and everything we shared. He closed the book on our life together and started another.

_Another book. Another life. _

I knew we were ending before the actual end. He wasn't sleeping. He was restless and Edward was only ever restless when he was nervous about something, and even then, he rarely showed any trace of nervousness.

Edward is a fine poker player - all cool head, still face, calm eyes. Never can tell what the fuck kind of hand he's holding, and that's just the way he likes it.

Even so, though, yeah, I knew when things were beginning to go south with us. I didn't know why things changed, why he changed, all I knew for certain was just that one day... everything changed, or perhaps it was a progression of days, the slow tedium of being entangled in a relationship he no longer took joy in.

~*~

Edward began spending more and more time on his laptop, withdrawing from me. He started taking phone calls from his manager in the other room, murmuring in hushed tones. He was distracted, his eyes peering past me to some distant point, the green so dark and pensive, those forest eyes shaded in shadows. I tried to get him to talk to me, to tell me what was knocking around inside that pretty head of his but he would always just smile - a soft smile, but one that didn't quite reach his eyes - and shake his head, running his fingers through his hair, saying he was just thinking about his next book. He claimed to be suffering from writer's block but that didn't make any kind of sense to me because he was waking up all through the night, his eyes feverish and he'd rise from the bed and I'd hear the soft tapping of the keys from the living room.

I walked out into the living room one of those nights determined to talk to him, for him to talk to me, to find out what the hell was going on with him. He was sitting cross-legged and barefoot, the laptop softly humming in his lap. He glanced up when I walked in, glasses perched on the end of his nose, and he smiled at me, and, God help me, it was the first genuinely loving, happy smile I'd earned from him in fucking days and it was gorgeous. Seeing it made me smile and he laughed softly as I hunkered down beside him on the couch.

He set the laptop aside and leaned into me, nuzzling into my hair, warm hands skimming down my back leaving a trail of sweet fire in their wake, and he murmured how much he loved my smile and he told me he had missed seeing it. It surprised me that, apparently, all this time he'd been missing my smile, just as I'd been missing his. And I realized then that I couldn't smile if he was frowning. His smiles, his love and laughter, were a catalyst for my own.

We said no more words then. They weren't needed. He knew what I felt. He always knew. His body melded to mine, our limbs entangling, and as I nuzzled into that warm skin, brushing my lips to his neck, I felt his hand slide down, strong, hot and gentle as he took my length, stroking it slowly, stroking me to hardness and I felt my soul relax even as my body grew taut with desire and pleasure.

_You called me 'angel,' but you gave me heaven.._.

We made love on the couch and there was a certain beautiful, but hungry, intensity to it, a tenderness borne almost of sadness, a feeling I think we both sensed that our lives were changing, and I knew I was losing him but I didn't know what to say, what to do, to hold him, to keep him tethered to me, and really, I didn't want that. He's like a falcon - intelligent, sharp-eyed, elegant, a prince of the sky. Edward wanted to take wing again and who was I to tether him to me, to cover those beautiful eyes with a hood and tie him to my wrist, setting him free to hunt, to soar, only to pull him back to me and send him plummeting to the ground again. I couldn't do that to him. I couldn't break his spirit like that, nor would I want to ever to do such thing to someone I loved with every pulse of my breaking heart.

Afterward, we lay on the couch for long moments and just held each other. I felt lazy and relaxed and I gazed down at Edward, caressing under his eyes, my thumb softly stroking the bruised shadows there. His eyes were vivid. So bright, too bright in his face, his lips swollen and red from kissing, his cheeks still flushed from passion, but that jaw of his was tight, still so tight - the tension inside him still untamed by desire. And I kissed him. I kissed him so hard, everything in me poured into that kiss - the fear gnawing in my gut, the desperation of clinging to a sinking ship - a_ sinking relationship_, I realized with a cruel irony, but most of all, I kissed him with all the intensity of my love, my body near shaking with it.

I felt his breath - soft against my lips, and I heard him - a sharp intake of breath, a ragged sob, and I felt him slide his hands down my shoulders, curling around my biceps, then lower, cradling the small of my back, his skin slick as mine with sweat and he whispered for me to never forget, no matter what, that he loved me and would always love me. He kissed my lips again and told me he'd always remember this night.

It was like a goodbye, a certain finality was in his voice, and I wanted to ask him what it meant but I was too damn terrified of hearing the answer myself, so instead, I did what I always do, I ignored the warning sirens wailing in my head and screaming through my heart and I just told him I loved him, too, and I always would. And I do. And I will... much to my own heartsick regret.

I was tired, but Edward couldn't sleep and I leaned back against the couch, pulling him against me, carding my fingers through the messy, sweat-dampened locks of soft bronze hair and he asked me to sing to him, and though my voice was rough from emotion and spent passion, I did as he asked and I felt his breathing even out and deepen and I knew he slept. I stayed there with him, holding him through the night, compulsive thoughts running through my head, thinking that if I could just hold him all night long, just stay awake and guard over him, keep the worries from creasing his brow, that... that everything would be okay, _that we'd be okay_.

I couldn't have been more wrong. Within the week, Edward was gone.

I was angry at myself. I shouldn't have trusted him, but I did. I had even allowed myself to trust the devil inside him that lurked behind that soft, deep voice, that angel face and those beautiful eyes.

And yet... still... a part of me, some fucked-up, deep-seated part of me was still clinging to my love for him, thinking that to be such a devil, Edward could be so fucking good, so fucking perfect. And that's just it - that's the problem right there, because humans are not allowed to fall in love with perfection. It always ends badly. Someone has their heart or their head broken. In my case, perhaps both.

I ached. I hurt so badly I wanted to die, and I wondered so many times how Edward was feeling. I imagined that he was just fine.

I'd be lying if I said I got over him. Of course, I didn't. No one gets over Edward Cullen. Once he's a part of your life, he becomes a part of you and there is no shaking him loose - nothing shakes him loose - not the alcohol or meaningless fucks, both of which I indulged in after he left.

The only balm to my soul is music, and I threw myself into it, every slide of my fingers across the strings echoed with the remembrance of his fingertips against my skin. Every song I sang, every note I played became the soundtrack to my memories, the sweet timbre of it an echo of love lost but never forgotten, and gradually, the music, my tender mistress, began to heal me.

~*~

Until yesterday.

Now, he's back and I'm shattered again. He's back and he comes to me with that desire blazing in his emerald eyes, those gentle words pouring from those beautiful lips, his arms reaching for me, his cock throbbing for me, and he tells me he loves me and wants me and it's like being burned by a bolt of his love that strikes like lightning - just that white-hot and intense and searing. I can't give in to him though because I know what waits on the other side of the sex and desire and promises - nothing but a world of hurt and regret.

I can't go down that road again. Edward claims to want me, but Edward wants... _everything_. My beautiful prince, so damn entitled. He wants me and his wife and his career and his closet. I daresay the prince would not be so willing to forfeit his kingdom, his princess and castle and crown for the love of the minstrel of his courtyard.

I can't give in to his desires because that would mean, not just climbing into bed with Edward, but also climbing into bed with dishonestly and shame and secrets and betrayal. It's a web he's spun, my spinner of strange and gauzy threads, and he's caught me and his wife up in it with him, but I'm working my way free from his gossamer grip.

Now, the way I see it, I'm a poker player, too. Never really been much of a gambler, though, when it comes to my heart. I gambled it once and lost. Never again. Right now, though, I think I'm holding the cards, and I don't know how I'm going to play my hand. I don't want to think about that right now. I just want to... _not think_.

I know exactly what I need. It's time for some company! My man Jack, he always kicks it with me. When nothing else works, Jack is there for me, my old friend, and I always know just where to find him.

I glance up at the sign ahead and pull off the highway, tucking down a side street and into a small neighborhood. He's in there waiting for me - all gorgeous, wet and ready, and I'm ready for him, ready to slide him between my lips and swallow him down.

I coast to a stop and stretch, pushing my hand back though my hair as I stroll inside the liquor store and grab a bottle of Jack Daniels from the shelf.

~*~

I can feel the warmth of the whiskey sliding with syrupy grace through my system as I lean back against Mae - her metal bulk strangely soothing as I stare out at the ocean. I grew up in a hot, dry town, and maybe that's why the ocean has such appeal to me. I remember the first time I saw it. I was scared to go in it - it was too big, too beautiful, too powerful, and so I just ran barefoot up and down the wet sand beside it, trying to dare myself - little mop-topped nine-year-old me - to go into it. I remember digging my toes into the sand and gasping when the cold waves ran over my feet and I shivered, but even so, I wanted out in that ocean. I was dying to swim in it, to explore treasures and shipwrecks that might be hidden in its depths, but I was still scared.

Things were bad at home. Daddy was drinking. Momma was all torn-up over it. They fought all the time. It was tense. Even as a boy, I knew things weren't quite right in the Whitlock household, so my Papaw, Monroe Jefferson Whitlock, and my Mamaw, Anabel-Marie Whitlock, took me and my sister, Rosalie, on vacation with them to Corpus Christi. They took us to the beach and my first sight of the big blue ocean thrilled me.

Rosie, however, hated it. She was fourteen and just beginning to get to that weird age where the girl starts blossoming into a woman but the petals aren't all unfurled yet, so it's all awkward and confusing. At least that's what Rosalie would have had me think. All I knew was that she made me miserable, always carping at me about something or other. Now, looking back, I realize all we had was each other at home - with Momma and Daddy locked in their eternal battle of the titans. Though Rosie and I were really close, I guess it's true what they say about familiarity breeding contempt. Still, when you're nine and your big sister is sitting under a beach umbrella screeching about how you just kicked sand in her Coke when you ran by to get the beach ball, all you want to do is aim that beach ball at her blonde fluffy head, thinking maybe that'll stop her yammering.

Rosie and I had kicked up a ruckus, jawing at each other, until Papaw scooped me up in his arms, carrying me down to the ocean. He wasn't a big man - not in height or bulk - but he had this amazing presence and it made him seem huge to me, like a superhero. He was a retired colonel in the Marines - tough as nails and not scared of the devil himself. Most people were intimated by Papaw. He was gruff, but there was a strong, loving, gentle side to him that he showed to me and Rosie and Mamaw that no one else saw. He was everything to me a man was supposed to be. He had quiet strength and possessed wisdom that comes from a hard-won life. Every line on his face a mark of memory and a badge of survival.

I can still see him like it was yesterday - the way he looked in that beat-up old cowboy hat, his face weathered from the sun, green eyes glittering, teeth flashing in his face - tanned like old leather - as he winked at me and told me that a real man learned to face his fears early on, that was the only way to deal with them - just flat out stare them down, and never back down.

I remember thinking that was the weirdest thing I'd ever heard or that I'd ever seen - my grandfather staring down that ocean like he was defying every damn shark in it to try to swim up there and get them a bite of Monroe Whitlock. I laughed and he turned to me, grinning that harlequin-diamond smile of his, and he dared me to go into the ocean. Eyes wide with fear, I grabbed his hand, asking him to go with me, but he refused, shaking his head, saying it was up to me to do it for myself, and that I could do it, that he believed in me and that he'd be right there making sure nothing grabbed me, and if it did, he'd dive in and save me.

I trusted him with my life and finally, I nodded, and plucking up all my youthful courage, I did it. I dived into the ocean... well, okay, not really. More like I ambled into it slowly, gasping every time the cold salty surf washed up on me. The whole time Papaw encouraged me to go deeper until finally I was waist deep and I turned around and grinned widely at him and he laughed, pulling off his hat as he waved, shouting, "_Woo! That's my boy, Jasper! Told you you could do it, Cowboy! Ain't no damn ocean or watery beast strong enough to get in their bluff on a Whitlock!_"

Mamaw snapped at him for cursing, but he just grinned all the wider and kicked off his boots, rolling up his jeans to wade into the water himself and I splashed back to him - feeling as happy and loved and brave and sun-baked as any boy ought to feel at least once in his life.

It's funny that now sitting here, half-sloshed on whiskey and gazing out at the ocean, I wonder what Papaw would think of my life now, of what I'd done with it. Would he be proud of me for sticking to my guns or would he think me a stubborn fool who, when faced with Edward's fucking deep ocean, turned away, afraid to dive into those depths again to look for the treasures I knew still lay buried there - submerged but waiting for me to dive in and find, to bring them from the ocean floor and hold them up glistening and gorgeous in the sunlight.

I knew the answer to that and I felt as cowardly and pathetic as I've ever felt in my damn life. It's amazing the lies we tell ourselves, the truths we construct to make ourselves feel better about things. Such elaborate stories with just enough truth in them to keep you from recognizing them for what they are - excuses, lies and weakness.

Truth is, now that I've taken some time to try to really sort through these crazy thoughts, I wonder if I did the right thing after all. Okay, don't get me wrong - I'm not saying Edward and I should have given in to our desires because that wouldn't have done either one of us any good, beyond just soothing a raging case of the hornies, but the fact of the matter is, despite the way I sit here shaking my proverbial fist at the sky... I do love him. It's as simple and stark and beautiful as that. I love him more than anything in this world, but for all that love, there is just as much bitterness and pain about him leaving me, about him not being able to face his fears and own up to who he really is and what he really wants out of life, about admitting we really fucked things up - he and I, and it would be an all-out uphill battle to work through his issues and my issues, and it's not just our issues - there's another person involved in our mind-fuckery, too, and you could argue that she's an innocent in all this.

...But fuck it... if we could do it, if we could change, would it be worth it? Could I try to walk into that ocean again - this time with my eyes wide open and knowing my Papaw isn't there to dive in and save me if I go too deep, or if I start drowning or the sharks try to eat me alive?

I'm warring with myself again - that battle between common sense and compassion, that same damn broke record that spins in my head and argues that Edward is married and closeted, versus the love-lies-bleeding part of me that still fucking aches for Edward, that loves him with every soul-sweetened beat of my heart.

I'm so damn confused and conflicted. Hell, I don't even know what it is Edward really wants. That's the problem with Edward - he wants it all, but I'm not saying he wants me.... beyond the physical, I mean. I know he wants me physically, and... honestly, I know he loves me still, too. I can still see the love in his eyes - that sweet shimmer there that always makes me think of morning dew on summer leaves. And I hear it in the longing that deepens his velvet voice, and I feel it in the warm caress of his hands, and I taste it in the fiery honey of his mouth. But desire-fueled love is not enough - you have to have something to back up that love - like determination and honesty. That's what we both need - to be honest with ourselves and with each other and with those who love us. And sometimes that's the hardest thing in the world to do.

My phone keeps ringing. I ignored it till I got here. It wasn't any great surprise to me to see it was Edward. I ignored the calls but he's a tenacious little bastard. He's called me now about half a dozen times, never leaving a message. He's finally resorted to texting, thinking, maybe I'm more likely to answer him that way.

He texts: _'Where are you?' _

I text him back: _'Away from you'. _

He doesn't text me back for a long while after that, but then he finally does. It says simply: _'I'm sorry. I love you_.'

Somehow seeing those words does something to me and I feel the hot salt sting of tears in my eyes.

_Damn it, Edward! What I wouldn't have given to have heard those words from you two years ago, Sweetheart, when they really mattered, when I really deserved them and when you really should have said them. _

I stare at the phone numbly wishing I knew what to say back to him. I'm warring with myself again, wanting to not get tangled up in that web again, to not dive into and drown in that ocean... but another part of me wonders '_What if_'...

_What if I did go back? What if we did try again? What if I'm willing to fight for it, and he is, too? What then?_

There are so many fucking obstacles, so much standing between us, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared as hell to put myself in that vulnerable position again, to be at his mercy again.

_Mercy... I wonder, would he show me mercy this time? _

The clouds are beginning to roll in and I know I should get up and find a hotel, but I don't think I'm in any condition to drive and I don't really want to move. I shake my head as I bring the bottle to my lips again drowning the muddled thoughts of my head in the drink as I stare out at the crashing ocean just waiting to drown me.

~*~

The morning sun blazes hot against my skin, forcing a golden poker into my blood-shot eyes, as I feel a soft nudge to my back and a tugging in my hair. My mouth feels dry, cottony and tastes like shit... which is exactly what I feel like.

For a moment, I just lay there, not wanting to move. Then I hear a voice.

"Dude! Are you dead, man? You've got crabs in your hair!"

The voice is warm, amused, laughing, and I finally turn my bleary head over to look at the owner of said voice as I pluck at my head, cursing at the feel of the grabby little bastards clinging to the damp curls there. "Well, shit! 'the fuck?!" I mutter, plucking the crabs from my hair.

The massive Native American kid standing there just grins widely back at me and for a moment, I'm so annoyed at his amused reaction to my predicament I just scowl at him, then he's reaching down to help me up. He's still laughing, though. .

"My name is Jacob," he grins, holding out a warm, broad hand. "What are you doing out here, man? Did you sleep out here? Damn..." he whistles, laughing again.

I shake his hand, rubbing my temple with the other. "Jasper," I reply, nodding at his question with a low moan. "Yeah. Bad scene with the ex. Came out here to just chill. Got pissed drunk. Passed out. Woke up to find a kid laughing at my pathetic ass and crabs in my hair... but better crabs in my hair than the more southern regions of my body, yeah?"

He laughs warmly at that and whistles as he runs his hand over Mae. "Is this your bike? Wow, she's a beauty."

"Thanks! Yeah, that she is. She's my girl. Well, my second girl. My first girl is waiting for me at home." I smile thinking of Scarlet, my guitar.

Jacob just grins wider and winks. "Waiting for you at home? Thought she was your ex. Maybe you're ready to kiss and make-up."

I smirk at him, laughing as much as I'm able to given the bells of hell clanging through my aching head, "Kiss and make-up with my ex? I don't know about that, man. It's complicated, you know?"

He smiles, nodding as he runs his hands lovingly all over the bike. "It always is with girls."

"Love is rarely easy," I mutter with a husky sigh, unable to keep from looking back at that ocean that both soothes me and sets my soul storming inside me all at once. It's confusing and heady the emotions it evokes in me.

Jacob holds out a bag of chips to me then - Fritos - and I grimace, my stomach doing flips inside me

"No, man, thanks," I shake my head, "I've never been a huge fan of Fritos. They always smelled like feet to me."

He laughs at that, sticking his nose down in the orange-yellow bag and inhaling before pulling back with a shrug.

I need to get a move on, try to get back to the city but I swear it feels like I'm going to hurl if I move right from the spot I'm standing... well, _swaying_. Jacob seems to take pity on me and tells me that his dad knows a killer hang-over cure - an old Quileute remedy that he guarantees is bound to put me back right as rain in no time.

I don't tell him that it would take more than an old native remedy to set me back to rights.

_Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall, Humpty Dumpty had a great fall, and all the _**Prince'**_s horses, and all the _**Prince's**_ men, couldn't put Humpty Dumpty back together again..._

Jacob is looking at me for a response so finally I smile. "Really?" I ask, squinting in that damnably bright sunlight. "It's that good, huh?

"Really!" he answers, and cheerfully slaps me on the back nearly sending me sprawling.

~*~

Billy Black is a big man with a kind, honest face and an open smile that is the mirror of his son's. There is a quiet strength to him that reminds me a bit of my Papaw, a strength unhindered by the wheelchair that holds him. He also possesses a warmth that immediately relaxes me as Jacob and I walk into the cozy kitchen of the small house and Jacob introduces me.

I blush as Jacob merrily explains my situation to his dad whose dark eyes glitter with the same amusement I can see in Jacob's.

"Don't you worry, Jasper," Billy grins at me. "Jake is right. I know something that should get you back into fighting form, son!"

I can't help but grin back at him, warmed by the sunlight spilling across the small table I sit at now, and the glow in Billy Black's fatherly eyes. "Thanks very much. Ya'll are very kind," I reply, feeling relaxed with them, Texas leaking back into my voice. "Jacob says it's an old Quileute remedy."

"Yep! All kinds of secret ingredients and," he laughs, sharing a look with his son, "a little hair of the dog that bit you, too. Whiskey, right?"

I nod glumly, a hot flush stealing up my cheeks, but he just smiles wider and continues, "Well, we won't give you enough to impair you and I'll have to insist that you hang around here for a bit so we can get some food in you and the alcohol can wear off so you'll be safe to drive"

I smile gratefully, moved by the generosity of spirit of these two men who don't know me from Adam. "Thank you, Sir."

"Billy. We're not too formal around here."

I grin then. "Thank you,_ Billy_."

"You're welcome, Jasper." He rolls over to the refrigerator and pulls out a packet of bacon as Jacob pulls out a frying pan. "So... girl troubles?"

I sigh gustily and smile, not wanting to lie to them. I lean back in the chair, a frisson of tension quivering through me for a moment - that same feeling I get every time I tell someone about my sexuality - it's such a private thing, you know? No one's business except yours and your lover's, but these men don't mean to pry. I know that. And it's not like I'm ashamed - it's a part of me, as much a part of me as my green eyes and my curly hair and the small birthmark at the back of my neck.

Swallowing, I run my hand back through my hair and then laugh softly, drumming my fingers against the table, my knee bobbing nervously below it. "Not exactly. No, sir. Troubles with my ex. He's wanting to see me again and... I'm just not sure where my head is at right now."

Jacob whirls around to face me, his eyes wide, and if Billy is also surprised, his face doesn't register it. He just calmly pulls out the strips of bacon, laying them in the pan. "Bad break-up?" he asks me and I gaze back steadily at him, at the serenity of him, the calm, the understanding.

See, this is what Edward needed to see, to understand, to wrap his mind around and perhaps get around to changing his own damn stubborn perceptions. Not everyone would react with small-minded bigoted hatred to someone who may be a little different from them. There were some people - a great many, actually, in my experience - who viewed a person as just that - a _person_. A person who loves and desires and has his heart broken and is as unsure and confused as any other person - no different from anyone else just because the person he loves happens to be of the same sex.

I nod back at him and he smiles. "Well, Jasper, it always seems to me that you young people get too wrapped up in the details - all the disagreements and differences - to be able to step back and really see what's important, what the crux of the matter is, you know? If it wasn't good with him and you don't love him or he doesn't love you, you're better off without him."

"But that's just it. We..." I trail off, blushing, feeling a little shy to be talking about such personal matters with these strangers, nice and welcoming and understanding as they are. They're new friends, perhaps, but _new_ is the operative phrase there. I just smile gratefully at Billy regardless, "Thank you, Sir... ah, Billy, I mean. I appreciate what you're saying, and you're right. You've given me something to think about."

And he had. Perhaps Billy was right. Perhaps what really mattered was the simple fact that when you stripped all else away, the truth is, I still love Edward and it would seem he still loves me. I'm not sure what we can do with that now, and if there is just too much shit between us that there is no hope of salvaging what we once had, but maybe, just maybe, he and I might be tempted to dip our toes into that ocean anyway. I don't know... maybe there's just too much ocean between us... maybe we're still piss-poor swimmers. Maybe it's better just to stay on the beach and stare out at the ocean... and feel as though I'm fucking drowning on dry land.

_Sink or swim, my man. _

~~*~~


	5. Chapter 5

_Hi! :) I just can't thank you all enough for the incredible reviews and PMs - wow, you guys really know how to make a girl's day! Actually, week, month, year! :D Thank you so much! Special thanks and hugs to the fabulous __**Fictionators **__and __**goldenmeadow **__for their wonderful rec/review of Begin Again! I couldn't be giddier! Thank you!! :D (Be sure to check out __**goldenmeadow's**__ *amazing*, gloriously sexy, hilarious and captivatingly gorgeous story, __**Dead Confederates**__ for the most wonderfully Southern-fried versions of our fave vamps: Sexy Rebelward ConfEddie and his bros: EOF - Equal Opportunity Fu... yeah, you got it ;-) Junior - yep, that's our Jazzy; and Bubba - you guessed it - Em! And, of course, can't forget the rest of the carnal Cullens: Malice, Sullen Cullen Carl and Maw Esme, and Bella, of course!) Also, more thanks and hugs to __**SweetDulcinea **__and the wonderful __**Sandbox **__girls for being so warm and welcoming to a newbie! And, as always, massive happy hugs and HUGE thanks to my wonderful BB Beta and Soul-Twinner, Val, __**Touchstone67**__, for being so f*awesome! You are a Shining Star, Sister-Sweetie! Thanks for all the laughter and inspiration and chats and gifts of yourself! :D_

_Okay, so now for Chapter 4 - usual disclaimers: __**Twilight**__ and the characters therein, as well as the ones I'm happily man-napping for the story, belong to Stephanie Meyer. I'm just playing with them because I never could resist a fine piece of man...or in this case *two* sexy menz! __(Also, I apologize for the angsty sturm and drang of this chapter, but in order fully understood how and why things stand as they do in the present between the guys, you have to know what happened in the past between them and what drove them apart.)_

**~~*~~**

_**BEGIN AGAIN**_

**Chapter 5 - **_**Howl**_

**~~*~~**

**Edward POV**

~~*~~

The beast stirs in my soul, ripping, tearing away at the very fabric of all that covers me - the lies and secrets, the fears and betrayal, the longing and regret - every single black and bloody shroud, it claws away from me with a howl. I feel that howl inside me finally bursting free, rending past blood and flesh and skin and heart and soul, the animal howl only my wild-hearted poet pulls screaming from me, making me want to drag my teeth across his skin and taste the sweet tender blood of his beating heart. I want to slake my ravaging thirst on his love and passion, the throbbing of his life - so precious and beating beautiful in my hand. He makes of me a hunter, and he, my precious quarry.

My Jasper, singer of my soul. He brings this beast out in me, every time, and only he can tame the savage beast with his song. From the beginning Jasper's siren song lured me - the sound sweeter than heaven itself but birthing a hell in my heart - a hell of my own making - a hell constructed of lies and shame and fear. My pounding heart - pounding like a drum, jumping, skittering away, races after the wild lion-heart that is Jasper - golden and unafraid and shaking the world with a roar of freedom and the almighty sound of his song.

The music of his soul sings inside me still, pounding staccato and hard, and I ache even now with the tactile memory of him - the perfect burn of ecstasy rolling hot and heavy and insistent within me as I remember him rocking against me, into me, growly groans ripped from his throat as I grasp the rolling slick skin of his back. Heat smolders between us, sweating across the pale skin as Jasper thrusts, his sinuous body moving in one long, sleek, continuous roll, grinding deep, a slow curling smile sliding across his wide, lush lips. His strong hands glide down my thighs, gripping them as he pulls them tighter around his sweat-shiny back, his jade eyes flashing in the dim light, echoed in the fire of my own eyes, a rumbling purr erupting from my chest as I grip him tight with arms and legs - a sweaty unrelenting clench, my hips driving up to meet his.

_Oh god... fuck! I need him... I love him.... still... forever... _

When he left me standing there in an acrid cloud of motorcycle exhaust, he tore my jumping heart away from me, carrying it with him and I watched him leave, racing into the sun - his hair burnished in that golden light - such visceral, terrible beauty that I felt my soul fall to its knees, some part of me giving up the battle - giving up some portion of my pride and I felt all the sorrow and shame crushing me down into that cold cement ground.

All the while a frantic mantra pounded through my head.

_No! STOP! You can't leave me! You have to come back! You can't leave me... not when I need you this much_._ Loosen me from these chains, Jasper... set me free to love you..._

I'll go after him, I'll run all night. I'll hunt with bloody feet across the ravaging ground till I find him.

And, of course, now I know the pain of abandonment, and perhaps that was his intention, for me to feel his pain, to experience the quaking agony I visited upon him. I deserve it. I know I do... for what I did.

~*~

When the end of us happened, it didn't come roaring in like some mad beast of a storm, no it crept in - stealthy, quiet, sneaking and slipping on padded panther feet about the darkest recesses of my heart, ripping and rending and pulling on old insecurities and eating at my psyche, tearing me inside out, ... until I no longer knew which way to wander anymore.

Jasper felt it too and I saw the shadow of my fears and denials hovering over him. The shadows were present in the silences, in the rough nods, in the way he turned away from me, intolerant of my anxieties.

He knew it was coming, too.

_Something wicked this way comes_...

In the years previous, I had been writing horror novels. The horror genre, though fairly lucrative and popular with a small but fiercely loyal readership, was just not where my head or my heart was at, however, and it did not satisfy my desire to write something of which I was truly proud. The year I met Jasper, though, had seen me branch out into writing something that did hold my interest and my enthusiasm.

Jasper encouraged me. He knew that, at times, I needed solitude to write and during those times, he'd sit out on the balcony, softly playing his guitar and writing his music. I remember watching him one of those evenings as I sat at my desk. Eyes burning, I leaned back in my chair, my hands laced behind my head, blinking my tired, bleary eyes as I gazed out at my lover.

It was a balmy evening - the rain from earlier making the night air soft and humid, causing Jasper's hair to twist in soft, almost cherubic curls. Jeans-clad, he sat softly strumming his long fingers over the strings of his guitar, his bare feet resting against the balcony ledge. Moonlight danced over him, silvering his curling hair and the bare skin of his chest and back and arms and feet. He must have felt my heavy gaze on him because he turned then, tossing a crooked, dimpled grin at me as he asked me if I was done writing for the evening. He asked me to read to him what I'd written, but I always preferred to have him read it aloud back to me.

I loved his support, his encouragement and enthusiasm for my new novel and for my dreams - those dreams he hoped to share with me. I laughed, feeling alive with promise, awake and alert again as I printed out the pages I'd just written and took them out to him. He set his guitar aside and smiled, leaning back in the chair and I sat on the table before him, smiling as I pulled his long legs into my lap, caressing them as he read my words aloud in his velvety drawl. I liked watching the play of those beautiful lips around my words.

He smiled as he read and when he finished, he flashed a wide, bright smile up at me, telling me how much he liked what I'd written. He praised my talent and, heart thrilling at his words, I reached for him, pulling him from the chair to kiss him hard, bruising that lush, warm mouth that spilled such love and sweetness into my soul. He pushed me back against the table, hovering over me, looking like some supernal creature from the heavens - a star wrapped in human flesh but retaining the shine and brilliance of his celestial nature. He smiled down at me, murmuring he loved me and before I could even answer him back that I loved him, too, _so much_, he stole the breath from me with a hot, slow kiss and I felt his hand slide down over me, stroking as I swelled beneath his languid caress.

And now, that sweet memory has morphed from a dreamy silvery night to black iron in my heart, shame that curdles in my soul, for what I did to him. All he ever wanted was to share my life and my dreams, and I couldn't allow it because I couldn't show the world the angel, my muse, that hovered over my shoulder, inspiring every word I wrote.

And that is what tore us apart - my fear of the truth about my sexuality, about Jasper, getting out. That fear was nearly made real one weekend in New York - that terrible weekend that started with such promise and eventually led to the beginning of the end of the relationship Jasper and I shared.

I had business in New York with my publishing house to discuss the book I was hoping to deliver to them within the next two months. James Walker, my manager, was supposed to be accompanying me but had to back out at the last minute due to a family emergency. I was glad of it, to be honest, because that meant Jasper, instead, was free to take the trip with me. With Jasper with me, the trip became as much about pleasure as business, which suited both of us.

We had gone out to dinner our last night in New York. Something about that night - perhaps a combination of the intoxicating influence of the love Jasper and I shared and the bottle of wine we had nearly finished off - awakened a temporary fearlessness in me. I reached across the table to take Jasper's hand, my fingers curling around his and he smiled, lifting my hand to press a tender kiss to the back of it, his jade eyes sparking in the soft amber light.

When we rose to leave the restaurant a bit later, I saw two young women sitting at a table near us. One of the women smiled eagerly at me, her black hair sleek against her head, piercings glittering in one ebony eyebrow behind her glasses and one in the curve of her lip. She rose from the table as we neared her and reached out her hand for mine. Taken aback, I blinked at her for a moment, my eyes widening as she asked me if I was Edward Cullen.

Jasper nudged me, a smile playing over his ripe lips, amused that I seemed to have a fan. It turns out the young woman, Angela Weber, was the editor of a Goth culture magazine called _Poe_, and she seemed quite taken with my horror novels. I was surprised that she recognized me from the book jacket photographs and stammered my way through a volley of thanks, feeling the heat of Jasper's amused smile just behind me.

Angela bit her lip then slightly, her pale cheeks flushing as she glanced down at her companion and then back up at me and asked if she might interview me for the magazine. I laughed and explained that I was happy to do the interview, however, I was not really writing in the horror genre as much anymore but I might revisit it at some point in the future. She had smiled at that and explained that the magazine was running a feature on Clive Barker which she felt would dovetail nicely with an interview with me, another, as she put it, _gay _writer in the horror genre.

No sooner had she spoken the words that I stiffened, my heart seeming to jolt in my chest, my eyes widening and I felt Jasper's hand on my back. I don't even remember what I said to Angela, only that I stammered stupidly, lying in vain about not being a gay writer, and I felt Jasper's hand drop from my back and I turned, apologizing quickly before hurrying outside to take huge gulps of the metallic night air.

I heard Jasper's soft, booted steps behind me as I leaned against a lamp post, trying to calm the rapid, rabbit cantering of my heartbeat. He didn't say anything and he didn't try to touch me. He just stood there beside me and when I turned to look at him, I saw the naked look of resignation and hurt that darkened those beautiful eyes. I tried to apologize to him, wanting to explain to him that I loved him and wasn't ashamed of him, ashamed of us, of what we shared, but the words were empty, ringing of hollow hypocrisy and Jasper knew it.

Things grew tense between us. Jasper sensed the growing divide, too. I saw it in his eyes, in the way he pulled back, in the way he grimaced, in his frozen silence, the jade of his gaze turned slate and cold. It hovered in the rippling shadows around our frozen bed. _With me, ... _no... he was no longer with me - in body perhaps, but not in spirit. The problem was that Jasper had fallen in love with a part of me I had to suppress and he had little patience for the painstaking image I worked so hard to perfect to conceal that secret side of me. I honed my gleaming mask for years, polishing and burnishing it. I should have known the gleaming facade would melt in the heat of his convictions, my mask burning away, and he would see the real me standing there - insecure, damaged, soul-weary - and he would not find that Edward nearly so captivating.

He told me he hated it when I was depressed and brooding. And I hated it when he said that to me. I'm not some mad, enthused whirling dervish. I'm only me. Sometimes depressed, when the old insecurities come roaring out of their dark den in my heart, but more oftentimes ... happy with him, happy to be _us_... or at least I _was, _but there was a price to pay for our happiness. We could have each other only so long as I could keep my secrets, my security, but Jasper lives by the old code and felt that in order to truly love another, to be true to another, we had to first be true to ourselves.

_To thine own self, be true_.

But what of the one who is ill at ease with who he really is? I was uncomfortable with my own heart, my soul, and certainly my sexuality.

Jasper felt that by denying my desires and denying my own heart, I was denying him and our love, and... perhaps he was right.

I saw his frustration in the shadows of his stormy eyes, the pursing line of his ripe lips suddenly closed to me, the tightness of his normally syrupy-smooth voice, and the taut stiffness of his broad shoulders. But, even so, we couldn't resist the pull of each other, the siren song of our sex life, and he grasped me so tightly, those limbs nonetheless wrapping viselike, desperate around me in bed when our bodies and passions were laid bare.

His mouth, fierce and hungry and angry, plundered mine, his hands gripping me painfully, pulling me tight to him as if he wanted to meld our forms. I watched him move above me as he pulled gasping from our kiss, hips rocking hard and firm against me as he raised up, pushing one hand back through his wet hair, his damp chest shining in the low lamplight as he braced his hands against the bed on either side of my head, pushing almost brutally into me with firm, rolling thrusts, his back bending, bowing smooth and sleek as my hips rose to meet his in that primal staccato drive and I gripped my straining cock, stroking it in time with his heavy thrusts.

I watched him above me, his eyes glittering, the tight, hard muscles of his abdomen moving with every deep thrust, the dim light dancing over the sweat on his body making him gleam like something from a dream, an erotic vision brought wickedly to life. And for those brief moments as I stared into those hurricane eyes and gazed upon the sweating, beautiful visage and I felt the writhing perfection of the body that twisted with mine, I knew Jasper was returned to me - free of frustration, free of his mad need to make a paragon of honesty out of me. In the blistering perfect honesty of those moments, our souls exposed by the bonding of our bodies, I knew true paradise again and I called out loudly, my body shuddering and spilling, echoing the elation I felt.

But then... as quickly as the exquisite joy had come, it would fade again - his face hardening, a cloud passing over those bright eyes, eyes that dulled and darkened and shuttered the soul within as he turned away from me. I watched the taut muscles of his smooth back rolling, his hair a golden tumble. I saw the red angry marks of my own hands on his back and shoulders, crescent marks that marred the smooth flesh.

Oh, he loved me well enough when I was scholarly Edward - soft-spoken, mild-tempered, gentle Edward - the one who held him, who kissed away the tears of worry and frustration that coursed more often than not during those confusing sunset days of our relationship, coursing down that beautiful face. He was as lost, as confused as I was in his own way, and it broke my heart and ravaged my very soul to see Jasper - my proud, strong mustang - suddenly so utterly uncertain and wandering astray. My bright Lone Star that still guided the ship of my heart across the raging seas despite the black holes that surrounded his blazing light. He was spinning in the emptiness that sought to enclose him in a cold, bitter embrace. It broke me to know that I was the void of emptiness slowly devouring his heavenly light.

~*~

Not long after returning to Seattle, I received a near frantic phone call from James. I heard the frustration that edged his voice and asked him what was wrong. He told me that Angela had contacted him about interviewing me for her piece on gay writers. James, of course, had his suspicions about my sexuality. He'd seen Jasper and I together several times, and though I tried to play it off that Jasper and I were only close friends and roommates, I felt certain that James suspected the truth. He asked me to meet him for lunch, and in the course of that lunch, proceeded to explain to me that it was crucial that I watch my image closely, that the publishers were keen to market me as a hot, young writer... emphasis on the _hot,_ he said. He had arranged for interviews and photoshoots with me for the release of my new book and explained about the publicity push the publishers were encouraging.

James is very shrewd and ambitious and determined - all of which suit him well for managing a career, however, tact and diplomacy are not his strong suit. Without bothering to mince his words, he told me that I needed to hush the gay whispers before they had a chance to take hold and build momentum. Given that the publishers felt my readership would be predominantly female, they felt my being perceived as gay would not tie in with their hope of marketing me as a hot, young cross between Dan Brown and Nicholas Sparks. I hated the comparison but given the globe-trotting mystery/romance of my book, I suppose such comparisons were inevitable.

More than that, I hated how badly it was going to hurt Jasper for me to tell him that we couldn't be seen in public together.

I went back to the apartment, my mind spinning, anxiety forgotten in favor of my excitement about the release of the book, the idea that I might be standing on the very cusp of truly achieving all that I'd yearned for with my writing. I wanted to share my excitement with Jasper and I came home to find him sitting on the couch, an opened bottle of Jack Daniels on the coffee table before him, his hair in disarray where he'd obviously been pulling at it - sure and certain signs that the muse of music was not knocking at his door.

His eyes were bloodshot as he looked up at me, rubbing his temple, complaining of a headache. I should have sat down with him, pulled his head into my lap, stroked away the headache. I should have soothed the worry that tightened that beloved, beautiful face, but I didn't. I was too keyed up, and with no thought or concern for his problems, I launched into my '_good_' news.

I knew he wanted to be happy for me. He smiled and congratulated me, telling me I deserved it, but his words were slow and sluggish from the drinking and I was impatient. I grabbed the bottle and took it back into the kitchen which caused him to laugh. His laughter annoyed me and I asked him what he'd managed to do that day, and asked him if he'd done anything at all.

His amusement faded, replaced with a searching look, then his eyes darkened and he gazed down, saying he'd accomplished '_Fuck all'. _I heard the pain and inferiority in his voice and I was ashamed of my needling him. I tried to encourage him then, but it was too late and he brushed me off as I sat beside him, accusing me of patronizing him.

His words angered me and without thought, I told him what James had told me about hiding my sexuality. Jasper rose to the bait and argued with me, saying the publishers weren't giving the readers enough credit in thinking they wouldn't read my books because of my sexuality. It was a hot-button topic of his and soon our discussion had devolved into a heated shouting match with him accusing me of selling out and being closeted and cowardly in denying who I really was and I shouted back at him that he was a coward for not pursuing his dreams of being a solo artist in his own right - instead preferring to be a session musician, hiding in the background behind other, less-talented, musicians. Of course, that was Jasper's Achilles heel - and when forced to face his own hypocrisy, he blanched.

We argued and Jasper raged, kicking over the coffee table in his anger and finally, I left. I had to get away, to clear my head. I couldn't deal with him when he was like that - the fire lashing him, the devil crimson in his eyes, passion and fury roughening his voice to a low growl that scraped at my nerves and shuddered my heart.

I went to sit in the park not far from where we lived. It was quiet there, peaceful and I watched people as they wandered through the park, wondering about their lives, creating stories about them in my head. Ever since boyhood, I had done such - creating tales to entertain and distract myself. Near the pond, a young woman stood with her back to me. I watched as the wind blew the dark chestnut locks of her hair back from her face and I gasped as I recognized her. It was Bella Swann. We dated briefly in high school but had lost touch after graduation.

I stood up and approached her, my feet crunching against fallen leaves, and she turned to me and I saw the tears heavy in her dark eyes but she smiled at me in recognition, a sweet, beautiful, open smile that belied her tears, and we embraced, each of us asking about the other. Embarrassed by her tears, Bella wiped at her eyes, a wry smile dancing over her lips as she explained that her family situation, unfortunately, had not improved since high school.

Bella's home life was miserable. Her father, unemployed again, was even more abusive now, her mother, always weak, had become an alcoholic. I sighed, nodding, thinking of Jasper, then I felt ashamed that I should think of him at that moment - allowing my frustration with him to bolster my judgmental criticism of his drinking. Unlike Bella's mother, Jasper was not weak. Jasper was a strong man but our problems had tarnished the golden brilliance of his creativity and he tried to find that missing muse in the bottom of a bottle, and his drinking only exacerbated our problems and widened the divide between us.

Bella and I sat down on the bench beside the pond and we talked for hours, catching up on our lives. It was wonderful to laugh and relax, to smile again, to be able to share my excitement about the book and my plans for the future. She told me that she would be leaving the following week for Italy. Her grandmother lived there and was dying. Bella wanted to be with her, and admitted that while she mainly wanted to be there for her grandmother because they had always been close, she also hoped that perhaps her grandmother might leave something for her.

Bella was desperate to leave home, to begin a life of her own. She had been forced to drop out of college when her father lost his job and had been working part-time as a waitress as she saved up to resume her studies. Bella had a fascination with folklore, particularly the folklore that defined a people - such as Native American or Irish folklore and legends. She dreamed of being a professor of folklore studies.

I was surprised to hear of her trip to Italy and I laughed, explaining that the book I was planning to write after the release of my upcoming book would be set partly in Italy and, as such, I had planned on going there myself for research purposes. Bella's eyes lit up and she leaned forward, impulsively taking my hand as she told me I should go, that we should go together so that we would have someone there with whom to do the, in her words, _'tourist thing'_.

I smiled at the warmth that lit up her soft, brown eyes, the sunset casting a soft rosy glow to her lovely, pale features, and I reached up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, hearing her soft intake of breath at my tender gesture. She reached up to lay her hand over mine where my fingers curled around her ear and she leaned forward. I could feel the warmth of her breath against my face, smell the sweetness of her mint gum as she edged closer to me, and I heard the sound of music behind us, and jerking my head, I turned to see a young, dreadlocked man playing the guitar on a bench across from us. He grinned at me and winked, thinking to play a romantic song for Bella and me, thinking us a couple. It was then that I felt the crushing heaviness, the sound of the guitar plucking cruelly at the strings of my heart, torn and tangled thoughts circling inside my head about my own beloved struggling musician who waited back in the apartment and haunted my heart.

I told Bella I needed to go but I promised her I would be in touch and perhaps we would see each other again in Italy should I decide to take my research trip. She smiled and said she hoped we would. We exchanged numbers.

I returned to the apartment to find Jasper, his eyes reddened, cheeks flushed, as he looked up from his guitar and before him, two scrawled pages of lyrics. He smiled sheepishly and apologized for fighting with me earlier and I sat down beside him, apologizing as well. He reached for me and I melted against him, laying my head against his shoulder, the curls of his hair brushing against my face as we held each other, the pain and guilt ravaging me, even as I knew that soon we would both awaken from the beautiful dream we'd shared together for so long.

~*~

I think I convinced myself that I was saving myself and Jasper and our relationship by going to Italy. Of course, I realize now I was simply deluding myself, finding some way to excuse my desire to escape the tension between us. I told him I needed to go to Italy to write. The week before I left was a beautiful time for us, however; the trembling passion reawakened to quicken us once more, and I hesitated, wondering about my decision, but ultimately, I decided to go, convincing myself that the temporary separation would be good for us, putting my faith in the trite belief that absence makes the heart grow fonder.

The morning of the day I left for Italy, Jasper and I made love for the last time. The desperate ferocity of our couplings for the past several nights was replaced with an almost aching tenderness. I poured all the soft tender regrets that whispered across my soul, the love for him that throbbed so strongly still in my heart, into every gliding caress. I gasped to feel the velvety perfection of his body's tight embrace, Jasper's sleek form moving with languid sinuous grace with mine, our lips brushing, hands slipping against sweat-slick muscles, my hand tangling in the wet locks of his hair, hips curling in, slow rocking, revolving, twisting, our movements primal but languorous, an almost luxurious, lusciously-graceful sliding and sinking into the succulent carnal embrace.

I palmed taut flesh, easing him open that much more, moving inside him in long, slow strokes now, hips rocking tender and I groaned to feel the silk-skinned heat of his erection against me as he groaned, bucking up into me, his jade eyes dazed, lush mouth open, gasping. I kissed him then, swallowing his cries, bone-deep pleasure swirling hot inside me as I pulled gasping from the kiss, bracing my hands against the bed so I could fuck my hips in deeper, needing to be as deep as possible inside him, wanting to melt into him. Jasper groaned, soft obscenities whispered hot, curling into my ear as he embraced me with his arms, his legs, his body, heart and soul.

~*~

My time in Italy seems a dream-blur to me now - images of the majesty of old Rome, Venice drowning, art and history and cathedrals, piazzas, wine and sunshine and writing... and Bella. My Bella with her heart loosened, winging free again. Bella with her pearly dreams and hope trembling inside her. We enjoyed each other's company, sightseeing and laughing, enjoying slow, relaxing meals together. Bella made me smile. She was lovely - utterly lovely, and sweet and so easy to be with, such wonderful, laid-back company.

When I returned to my room at night, every night, I tried calling Jasper. He never answered the phone and I left messages - the first few sweet and filled with my longing for him, my regret at leaving. Then, as the days went on and I still heard nothing from him, I felt the panic building in me, and I wondered if he was punishing me for coming to Italy, for leaving him behind. Jasper is as stubborn as the Texas Longhorns for which his state is known, so I convinced myself that Jasper was simply trying to make a point with me, stubbornly hanging on to his annoyance about my trip. Even as I convinced myself of this, however, a small voice niggled in the back of my mind, whispering in a devilish rasp that I was only deluding myself, that I was losing Jasper. I ignored the demonic voice of doubt as much as I could.

I began spending more time with Bella. She needed me. She was so worried about her grandmother but, even so, she was resigned to the fact that she was losing her and we talked about such things one night - about how difficult it is to say goodbye to someone you love. She saw the tears in my eyes and reached out to cup my cheek, her hand so small and soft and warm against it as she stroked her thumb against my lips and asked me if I had lost someone I loved and I answered her truly, that yes, I was losing someone I loved with every beat of my breaking heart. If she wondered of whom I spoke, she didn't speak of it. Instead, she just leaned into me and I held her as she cried against my shoulder and my own tears dampened the dark silk of her hair.

Bella's grandmother died soon thereafter. I held Bella as her grandmother was laid to rest in a small cemetery outside of Rome. Bella was heartbroken with love for her beloved grandmother, and crushed with disappointment that her grandmother had nothing to leave her except sweet memories and mementos.

Soon, my sojourn in Italy was over, and while I had enjoyed my time there and Bella's company, I was anxious to return home, aching to see Jasper, to see those bright eyes and that beautiful, sweet dimpled smile again, to hear the warmth of his laugh, and to bask in the heat of his embrace and the pleasure of his body and his love. I worried about leaving Bella, though, who had said she wanted to stay in Italy to clear up things involving her grandmother's house. Her cousins had suddenly appeared, brandishing claims to the house. Bella was determined to fight it, but as I looked at the papers her cousins had an attorney draw up, I knew that legally Bella had no recourse and she grudgingly accepted it. I was worried about leaving her behind in Italy and I was relieved when I finally managed to convince her to fly home with me.

On the way to the airport, I tried calling Jasper again but I knew it was of no use. Still, some compulsive part of me had to at least _try_ to get through to him again. I then called James who said he would pick me up at the airport and give me a ride back to the apartment.

James was there waiting in the baggage claim when Bella and I arrived and I saw his eyes widen as he gazed appreciatively at her. He grinned at me then, winking in apparent approval as Bella turned to grab her bag as it came down the conveyor belt. James rushed up to grab it for her and I frowned, taking it from him. She smiled watching us.

The entire ride back to the apartment, I felt the twin lions of anxiety and excitement warring within me. I barely paid attention to anything James was saying. Bella sat in the front seat beside him, talking to him, answering his questions about Italy as I sat staring out the window, seeing nothing but Jasper's face in the drifting clouds that scudded there.

~*~

And so it was that a month and a day later from when I'd first left for Italy, I returned to the apartment to find it utterly devoid of Jasper, nothing of him left behind - nothing save the lingering ghosts of memories that haunted me, reaching for me with the cold phantom fingers of aching sorrow and the keen sting of regret. The apartment was as empty and bereft as my soul and I sat in the middle of the floor and sobbed as I haven't since I was a boy. Every throbbing sorrow that pounded through my heart felt like the only thing that tethered me to this life, a life empty and pointless without him, without his love that gave my life such precious meaning.

I looked up then with raw eyes and saw haunting memories - the ghost of him that smiled at me around the cigarette in his mouth, holding a clutch of playing cards in his hands as he taught me how to play Texas Hold'em. And there, another phantom - Jasper impishly popping my bare ass with a towel as I exited the bathroom, chasing me down the hall, popping me the entire way, a wicked laugh ringing from him. And there in the shadows of our strangely, suddenly cavernous bedroom, a gorgeous, seductive spirit sprawled sleepy and sensual across the bed, his arm out and waiting to enclose me.

I sat on the bed, too empty to cry anymore. Jasper had given up on me, on us, too quickly, and I had no idea where he was or how to find him.

Or... did I?

The thought occurred to me then that if anyone knew where Jasper was, it would be his sister, Rosalie. With a thrill of hope firing rockets in my heart, I quickly punched in Rosalie's number, anxiously waiting for her to answer the phone. Finally, she picked up and I spoke in a rush, explaining to her how I had been in Italy for research but I was back now and anxious to find Jasper but he wasn't at the apartment and did she know where he was and could I get that information from her.

She paused as I finished my anxious rambling and I heard the ice that frosted her words as she told me, in no uncertain terms: "_Fuck you, Bastard. You have some nerve calling me, sniffing around after my brother after the shit you pulled. Jazz doesn't need you anymore, Edward. In fact, you've already been replaced. Jasper has someone new in his life now_."

I must have gasped or made some small sound that let her know how her cruel words set flames to my soul because she laughed darkly, saying, "_Maybe you'll remember how it feels to be abandoned and heartbroken before you go and hurt someone else again, you, closet case! And if you think you're going to ever try to find Jasper again, hurt my little brother again, so help me, Edward, you will live to regret it."_

And with those words, she disconnected the call. I believed Rosalie, never suspecting that she was lying to me to protect her brother.

I believed her - that Jasper had moved on and was no longer in love with me and had found someone else to love. I felt everything inside me crumple. I thought of the many pages of writing I'd crumpled and tossed in the trash because they were useless. I was that paper, the relationship that Jasper and I had shared written in scrolling script across the page, and Jasper had crumpled it and me up and tossed us away in the trash - utterly forgotten as he began writing a new page in the book of his life.

~*~

How to even begin to explain the next chapter in my life?

Suffice to say, like Jasper, I began a new page, a new book, and I found another writing partner - someone I trusted and cared for; someone who was easy to love and who loved me back; someone who needed me as much as I needed her.

Bella and I married within a year and I settled content into married life. Of course, there were some hiccups along the way, first and foremost being that while I loved Bella so very much, I realized from the beginning that my love for her was completely different from my love for Jasper. Sometimes I felt keenly guilty of that but I couldn't dictate the irrational pull and pulses of my heart. I loved Bella and, yes, I made love to Bella and it was beautiful and sweet, but not once had it possessed the blistering firestorm of passion that I felt when Jasper and I made love.

The way I feel about Bella - that tender regard - the desire to watch over her, keep her safe and secure, make her happy, to see her smile and see her sweet brown eyes glow warm with love, to feel the soft touch of her hands against me - is different from the way I feel about Jasper, that aching love - the desire to love him, to bask in his love, to watch his face light up with that vivid smile, to hear his laughter and taste his kiss, to feel his scruffy cheek brushing against mine, to feel the strong warmth of his arms and the heat of his hardness and the embrace of his body, to revel in his joy and to lap at his dimples and drown him in bliss and reassurances of my love and my desire for him and to feel him around me, in me, loving me, possessing me, part of me.

I loved both Jasper and Bella so much but so differently, and I suspected, sometimes, that Bella felt rather the same as I, that she loved me but perhaps was not _in love _with me. We started marital counseling for that very reason - both of us well aware that while we did love each other, something, something crucial was missing in our relationship.

Of course, I just found that missing something again, _my _missing something, in a bookstore - my heart, my heart long-gone missing but which suddenly beat back into life, pounding with life and love essence, reanimated by Jasper, and like Frankenstein's creature, I lumbered after him, needing him and his love to make me whole again, to replace the tattered, worn-out bits of me with something clean and new - something gleaming like hope and shining like love.

But now, as he leaves me howling after him... I realize I'm not Frankenstein's creature, no, it's the hunter he's awakened in me, the wolf, this curse that falls on young lovers, starting so soft and sweet, but which twists, turning me inside out, the beast screaming free, turning me into the hunter, the predator..

_...and I hunt for you, my love... always... you leave me screaming, howling when we're apart. _

_~*~_

The next day, I'm at Jasper's apartment again feverishly hoping he's returned but he's not there and I feel a chilling echo of another empty apartment two years previous. I finally leave Jasper's and return home and as I pull into the driveway, I see Bella is waiting for me on the front porch, her legs tucked up under her, a reproachful look in her eyes as if she knows where I've been, who I've been with and what I've been doing... or trying to do. I have to fight to keep from hanging my head in shame, but I feel an imaginary tail tucking between my legs as I slowly walk up the flower-trimmed path to her.

She holds my gaze for a long moment and I swallow. The black thing is back squatting inside me and I feel my breath constrict as I realize the thing has grown larger, nearly overwhelming me now with the crushing weight of its ebony misery. I find myself struggling for the words to say, to say something, _anything_ to her, to apologize or plead or tell her it's just not working... _anything_, but nothing will push forth from my lips and I push my hands back through my hair in an agony of frustration, my jaw tight.

Bella rises then and lays her hand gently on my arm and the gentleness of her touch releases a gasp of mingled regret and relief from me. She squeezes my arm.

"Edward, we should talk," she murmurs, her voice soft but almost husky with emotion and I ache to know I've put that throbbing sadness in her voice. "You know that they told us in counseling that we have to always be open and honest with one another," she continues and I nod mutely, stupidly unable to speak.

She nods and turns then to open the door, stepping inside and then she turns to me and I see the tears in her brown eyes and I want to howl again, this time a mournful howl as I realize I've pulled Bella into this screaming madness with Jasper and me. "Bella, Baby, I...."

I don't get a chance to finish my sentence as my phone suddenly chimes, alerting me that I've just received a text message.

Bella turns then, walking inside and with trembling fingers, I press the button to view my message.

It's from Jasper, and I read the words and stumble back against the door.

_I'm back. We need to talk. _


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N**: I really want to thank all of you who have left such wonderful, kind reviews and PMs, and those who have added me to your alerts and faves. You have no idea how much that means to me! **Thank you so very much! :)** I have to say, I've been in several fandoms, yet never have I seen one as friendly and supportive as the Twi-Fic fandom - it's really inspiring. :)_ _Personally speaking, it means a great deal to me because this writing is an escape for me, and things are a little stressful in RL right now, so all of your kind comments are truly uplifting, so again, thank you!! :) _

_As always, I am so very grateful, as well, to my incredible, wonderful friend and Beta, Val, **Touchstone67**, for her friendship, her inspiration, her kindness, her talent, her sweetness, her humor and her late-night chats and story-plotting. She is amazing and beautiful! Thank you, Val, for everything! You're the best, Sweetie! :D MWAH! Also, BIG hugs to **Beautiful Figment** - you know why, BB! I'm thinking about you! _

_Okay, so now for Chapter 6 -_ _usual disclaimers: Twilight and the characters therein, as well as the ones I'm greedily borrowing for the fic, belong to Stephanie Meyer. I'm just playing with them for a bit_

_**~~*~~**_

_**Begin Again**_

**Chapter 6 - Proud Flesh **

(_**Jasper - POV**_**) **

~~*~~

This is it. I have to do _something. _It's a chess game and it's my move, and I have to be strategic about this... but how can I be when emotion has me caught up in its hot, tight death grip, squeezing the life out of me, jerking me around like a fucking puppet on a string.

_Come on, Jasper, my man, you can do this! _

Fuck it. I don't even believe the better angels of my nature anymore, that tell me I can be strong because I'm a strategist and I can think clearly and not let these emotions run roughshod over me because I'm a Whitlock and Whitlocks don't give up and they don't give in, and I'm _not_ giving in to Edward Cullen again.

I'm done with giving him everything that is in me to give... giving him the whole of me - every last crimson-bloody, flesh-firm, soul-sweetened, dream-delirious, lovelorn part of me. I gave him my heart, and I watched as he so carefully wrapped it up and hid it away in a jeweled box like a shameful, secret treasure, not wanting anyone else to know he held it, but unwilling to give it back to me, leaving me empty.

I hate being caught in limbo like this, trapped between my head telling me one thing - to move on with my life _without_ Edward and his baggage - and my heart another - to run like hell to his side and fight like hell to hold on to him and to what we once held.

I'm living in twilight time in the shadow of his soul - never daytime or darkfall; existing in that in-between time, wandering that in-between place, wondering about Edward's next move. Is he moving me into place again like his fucking pawn?

_King takes pawn_.

I'm restless. I just can't relax. I want to ride. I want to go. I want to do fucking _something. _Anything has got to be better than sitting here waiting like a lovelorn geeky teen for the damn phone to ring.

I tap the ash off the end of my cigarette, and walk over to the window, cigarette resting against my hip, my other hand pressed to the glass as I look out, only I'm not really seeing what's outside my window. All I've seen for days now is just Edward's face, seeing a myriad of expressions drifting like clouds over his beautiful countenance - his familiar, disarming, lop-sided grin; the way his brow puckers as storms gather in his eyes when he's upset; or the way those eyes brighten to green as verdant as a new forest, his smile wide as he laughs, animated with almost kittenish exuberance when joy overtakes him.

_Fuck, I miss him_. Why can't I just move on? Why can't I just stop missing him? What would it take to scrub him from my soul?

I thought I'd found a way to live my life without him in it. I was me again, just Jasper Whitlock - _solo_. The hell of it is, though, I'm not good at the solo thing. I'm not even a _solo musician_, for chrissake... not really. I mean, yeah, I do my own thing as far writing songs, but I hardly ever play those songs for anyone. Though I used to play them for Edward because he inspired them. I'd sit in our bed playing them for him while he sprawled beside me, long and languid and gorgeous, spread seductive and sleepy over our bed, a sweet, soft smile on his face, his eyes drowsy as he stroked my leg in time with my fingers against the strings of the guitar.

Some of those songs were pretty damn good, if I do say so myself, and Edward tried to encourage me to record them. He knew I was pulling at the reins, pawing at the ground, dying to do my own thing instead of what I usually do which is just... play someone else's shit on _their _CDs. It's never my music I'm playing.

The only time I ever play _my_ music is the occasional night when I'm back home in Texas and Garrett asks me to play at his music bar. Garrett is my cousin, so a part of me always wonders if he's offering me the chance to shine on my own out of nothing but family obligation.

Those nights, when it's just me and Scarlet on a stool at the front of a dingy stage may not seem like too much of a such, but for me, those few moments, are fucking nirvana. I love it because I'm really there doing my own thing, singing the songs of my soul. I don't even care if anyone is really listening, because it's more about me expressing it - letting it out of me, purging myself of this overload of emotion - than anyone hearing it anyway.

Sighing, I lift the cigarette to my mouth again and glance at the clock, then back at the phone sitting on the coffee table. I exhale the gray streaming cloud of smoke, closing my eyes as I rest my head against the glass of the window hoping to cool the thrashing heat of my thoughts. See, that's what Edward was so good at doing - his cool calm was always a balm to my overheated soul.

I remember one time when I was particularly frustrated with a song I was working on, growling out my impatience, and Edward looked up at me from the kitchen table where he sat typing away at his laptop. He beckoned me with a tender crooked smile and a crooked finger, and as I reached his side, he slid his arm around my waist, nuzzling that copper-crowned head against the bare skin of my side and stomach. I ran my fingers through his soft, messy hair, pulling lightly at the bronze tufts as he kissed me, soothing me with his touches and soft murmured words as one would gentle a nervous horse.

I knelt on my knees before him, gathering him in my arms, breathing in the scent of him - the smell of his freshly-laundered shirt, the mint of his toothpaste, his sweet, clean skin that smelled of his aftershave and cedar and spice and everything nice. He turned in his chair, pulling me between his legs, my arms sliding around his waist in an almost proprietary gesture, lifting the back of his shirt to caress the soft, warm skin of the small of his back as we kissed. And I felt his hand against my face, his touch so gentle as I smiled against his lips and he thumbed over the dimple in my cheek.

Even during the most stressful times of our relationship, Edward's touch was always tender. When my prince's pride wouldn't allow him to say he was sorry, the words dying on his tongue, his touches - a soft stroke of my arm, a caress through my hair, his body leaning into mine - told me everything he could not, and as a man of action myself, I'm a true believer that actions do indeed speak a hell of a lot louder than words.

Groaning, I beat my fist against the cold glass, jaw tight, near biting through the cigarette. Shit, why do I fucking torture myself with these memories? It's in the past, and it's not like that anymore, and maybe it'll never be like that again.

Yet, I can't, for the life of me, let the sweet tangled torture of those memories go...

I take one last pull on the cigarette then amble back over to the coffee table to mash it out in the ashtray, and as I flop back down on the couch, I reach for Scarlet, hoping that maybe strumming her will settle some order into my disordered emotions. I glide my fingers over the strings, concentrating on the feel of them, trying hard not to think about the many times I'd played my fingers over Edward's ribs in much the same way. As with Scarlet, I could always evoke the sweetest sounds from him with my touch. I loved making his body sing, watching it arch gracefully off the bed, his skin sliding against mine. He was the instrument of my pleasure, the lyre to my Orpheus.

Growling with annoyance at my own heartsick foolishness for being unable to control these stupid, maudlin thoughts, I glare at the phone again, tempted to crush it under my boot or throw the damn thing against the wall to hear the satisfying crack of it breaking. If I did that, well, then I'd have an excuse as to why Edward wasn't texting me back. I could make myself believe that he had texted me but I just couldn't get the message because I broke my damn phone.

I've always prided myself on being a pretty honest person, but I've become a fucking pro at lying to myself.

I set the guitar aside again, my knee bouncing, and unable to sit a moment longer, I get up again, pacing restlessly, pushing my hands back through the tangled curls of my wild hair. I catch a glimpse of myself in the hallway mirror as I pass it and grimace. Hair all wild, fucking shadows under my eyes, bottom lip chewed raw - I look like nuthouse escapee.

I feel like a nuthouse escapee.

It's the waiting that's driving me insane. Seems like I've been waiting fucking years for Edward, in one way or another. The thing is, I've never been a patient person. I hate waiting. I'm the antsy jackass that's a menace on the road, weaving through traffic, trying to push on ahead. I guess it's a good thing I traded in my 4x4 for a motorcycle. Less Road Warrior that way, more Road Wanker, which is probably a good damn thing because it means less chance of me being killed by some fucked-off big-rig trucker.

Edward used to hate it when I drove. He'd sit there, grasping the arm rest and the dashboard in a white-knuckled grip, cursing me under his breath, shooting me a look from behind his sleek sunglasses thinking I didn't see the glare, but I did, and it amused me greatly. It was fun to see Edward shake off some of that hard-won control, and the only times I ever saw him come undone was in bed or in laughter, in anger, or in fear of my endangering his life and limbs. He accused me of road rage and I'd see him politely wave at the people I cut off, which always tickled me knowing those folks were probably thinking E was just being all cocky and egging them on when that couldn't have been further from the truth.

See, that's the thing about my proud pretty prince - he has entirely too much dignity to purposefully _try_ to raise someone's hackles.

No, that's _my_ thing, and I love it. I enjoy getting in there and kicking the shit, provoking a reaction, and I especially loved getting E's goat, and let me tell you, I was a prime goat wrestler.

But...you know, that's probably part of the problem right there. I thought it was sexy and funny seeing my man get all flushed and flash-eyed. He was fucking gorgeous like that - the smolder burning in those eyes, the passion spilling like lava from those pretty lips. I thought it was fair-fucking-awesome the way we balanced each other out; I stirred the passions in him and he herded the horses of fire that raced through my heart.

It was fine fun bringing summer heat to his autumn chill. My lord of autumn - all crisp and cool with the crimson glory of October leaves in his coppery hair and the sweet smell of cinnamon and spice on his breath. I loved firing him up, stoking those passions in him like a raging bonfire.

I don't think he much appreciated it at the time, though. I know he certainly didn't appreciate my occasional practical jokes at his sometimes-stuffy expense either.

I remember one morning while he was in the shower, I put cayenne pepper in that General Foods International Coffee powdered shit he liked to drink just to see if he noticed. Oh, he noticed alright and spit and sputtered and raged at me till I thought I would literally pass out from lack of oxygen from laughing so hard at his affronted ass.

E kicked my chair out then, sending me to the floor which only made me laugh all the harder and I looked up then to see his mouth twitching to keep from cracking up. He was trying so hard not to lose it himself. Rolling over onto my back, I just grinned as wide as I could up at him until he finally sighed, nudging me in the ribs with his bare foot and he called me an idiot in about the most fond tone in which I've ever been insulted. I pulled on his pajama-clad leg, pulling him down beside me and we lay there beside the breakfast table laughing, kissing, loving...

I shake my head at the memory wondering if Edward ever thinks of those times we shared. Does he remember the laughter, the lust, the tears and the anger? Does it rouse the eagles of emotion in him, sending them flying about in his head? My beautiful bird of prey, maybe he's too far removed - soaring so high above the ground, so high above all this sweat and dirt and humanity, that the feelings don't buffet him like the winds that whip at me - stinging me with every hot southern swipe at my soul as I try to out-gallop them.

Yeah...these memories... fuck, they haunt me. I miss him so much it hurts. I still long for the sound of his laughter - that velvety rumble - the most beautiful sound in the world, next to the sound of his heartbeat strong and steady beneath my ear...

I tap out another cigarette from the packet on the table and light up. Freud would have a fucking field day with the fact that my smoking, my so-called 'oral obsession', started about the same time as when Edward and I got together.

I look up again at the clock, watching the minute hand, counting down every lost minute of my life. I can't believe I'm sitting here waiting on his indecisive ass again. I mean, come on! Fuck that!

The thing is, though, about the waiting, E tried to teach me to slow down and just enjoy the drive. He was forever saying that it wasn't about the destination; it was the journey that counted. He compared it to his books, saying what made people decide they loved a book or not depended on if they enjoyed the journey the book took them on, not the ending.

I know now that Edward may have been right about the journey but, like I said, he was always a much more patient soul. All I wanted was just to get the fuck there - none of this pussy-footing around business. I never thought then that even the way we regarded getting from Point A to Point B revealed so much about the inherent differences in our life philosophies.

I take another suck on the cigarette and then pull it from my mouth, rolling it between my fingers as I lean my aching head back, blowing a curling gray stream of smoke up at the ceiling. _Damn it_... I hate that I'm stuck here waiting on Edward to answer my text and I can't stop thinking that maybe he's ignoring it, _ignoring me_. Edward is a master at that. He has what I call 'convenient sense loss', meaning if he doesn't want to hear what you're saying, he's goes conveniently deaf, and if he doesn't want to see what's right in front of his eyes, he comes down with a case of sudden, convenient blindness.

So, maybe that's it. He's purposefully not hearing or seeing my text, or maybe he's beginning to sense that it's better for both of us if we just forget our little bookstore encounter and move on and let the past - _and us _- be done.

The pragmatic side of me knows it's best, for my own battered psyche certainly, if we do just that, because if I see him again, I'd almost... hell, I'd almost prefer he didn't say anything else to me at all because he's way too clever and glib, and he'll say something that sounds good, but I'll know he doesn't really mean it and it's not coming from his heart.

But, see, there is this other side of me - the stupider, more emotional _id_ part of me - that still fucking craves him, that still loves him, that aches for what we once had. You'd think after all this time, and after everything that beautiful, exasperating man has put me through, that I'd have learned my lesson, but I'm a stubborn bastard, and I don't give up easily.

You know, it makes me think of this horse my grandfather had when I was growing up. It was a big, fine stallion. He was a beautiful beast, but he was a brute with fire in his eyes and all the fighting spirit of Texas itself coiled in his sleek black muscles. He was called Necromancer and he had originally belonged to Papaw's friend Jean. Well, Jean couldn't do shit with the horse, which kept managing to leap the paddock to get at the mares. Poor Jean tried everything to contain the animal, he tried breaking him every way he could, short of abuse, but it was all for naught.

For all his grit and gristle, Papaw was a tender-heart when it came to animals, so he offered to take Necromancer off Jean's hands. The very night Papaw brought Necromancer home, the horse tried leaping the barbed-wire fence, and cut up one of his legs pretty badly. When the wound began to heal, the hair grew back lighter and thicker than the rest of his sleek, black coat. I asked Papaw about it and he told me that patch of discolored skin and muscle was called '_proud flesh' _and he said it was the result of a healing wound.

_Proud flesh_. Weird name. Papaw explained that it was called 'proud' for the biological meaning of 'excessive' scar tissue growth, but he himself also took it to mean 'proud' in the symbolic sense in that it showed the horse was strong, a survivor. Necromancer's 'proud flesh' showed his strength, his stubbornness, and his indomitable spirit. I looked at the horse again and suddenly what I'd thought was scarred and ugly before became beautiful in my eyes.

I said as much to Papaw and he put his arm around me as we leaned back against the wooden fence, watching Necromancer grazing. I looked up at my grandfather, those eyes bright in his careworn face, as he told me there was danger in 'proud flesh' too, saying that the scarred flesh can also be unhealthy growth on a wound that hinders its healing and is a real detriment to the animal.

I've thought about that 'proud flesh' many times since then, wondering if I bear my own - the scars from my relationship with Edward - and I've since mused on whether those scars of mine are a mark of what I've lived through and been strengthened by, or, instead, I wonder if they are they like an unhealthy tumor in my life, swelling and hindering my own growth, keeping me from being able to gallop off.

Hell, if I know.

When Edward first left me and headed off to fucking Italy, it was like a nightmare from which I couldn't awaken. I'd never felt so damn empty and numb and hopeless in my life. Loneliness settled over me, suffocating me, and all the while, my thoughts just kept spinning like a scratched record in my head and I just wanted to turn down the volume. I tried to do that via drinking, but that only helped a little. I also tried to replace the pain by sleeping around, but that didn't work either. None of it really worked. Oh, it dulled some of the sharpness of the ripping pain, but it didn't do shit for the emptiness or the loneliness.

I ran into Peter and Charlotte, friends of mine and Edward, at the movies one night and they asked me how I was doing. Charlotte was worried about how I'd taken the news that Edward had gotten married. Of course, that was the first I'd heard of it, and I swear to God, I don't know how I kept it together but I did. And a funny thing happened, rather than letting it throw me into another depressing tailspin, instead I just had to laugh at how very fucking closeted Edward was, and truthfully, it made me sad for him, that he was living such a lie. I thought to myself that maybe he was happy, and for his sake, I hoped he was because I couldn't imagine the horror of living a lie every day of my life.

Of course, I knew then it was time for me to get my own shit together, to truly let go of the past, _and Edward_, and finally move on. So one evening, I was sitting here in my apartment and I remembered ol' Necromancer and how he just kept right on trying to leap the paddock to get to the mares, and I decided I needed to leap the paddock, too. Granted, I wasn't out for mares, but I was sure as hell yearning for greener pastures.

Not long after that, I met someone, and there for a while, we had a pretty good thing going on.

I met Nate one night at a club. The thing is, I've never really been into the club scene because all that techno shit grates on my last nerve. Maybe it's because I'm a musician myself, but those damn bleeps and whistles are not fucking music, unless you're a robot. But anyway, I'd finally decided I'd had enough moping around like some damn emo-boy and... well, honestly, I was horny as hell, too. What I wanted was just another quick, meaningless, but pleasurable, fuck.

That night didn't exactly turn out as I expected, however. I had just ordered a glass of gin when I saw this fucking beautiful boy walk into the club. Leaning back against the bar, I watched as he approached and I got a good long look at him. It was obvious he was nervous as hell with long-lashed eyes as big as dinner plates and blue as the summer skies of Texas. He was tall, well-built and had a gorgeous face - all high cheekbones and lush, blow-job lips, and a fall of hair over his forehead that gleamed wheaten under the dancing lights.

Perhaps it was his beauty, or the elegant way he was dressed, or that feline, prowling walk of his, but something about him reminded me of Edward... well, I take that back, not _Edward_ so much as some of the traits that I'd always found appealing about Edward and... that was it. I was captivated.

I watched his brow furrow as he gazed at the drinks menu lit up gaudily behind the bar tender and I grinned, leaning in toward him to tell him that the club also had plain old beers if that's what he wanted.

He lit up at that, laughing, and he turned to smile at me, and shit, that smile was so open and guileless and framed by such deep dimples that I couldn't help grinning back at him. He introduced himself as Nate and I liked the firm grip of his hand and the warm, friendly look in those summer-sky eyes.

I took him home with me that night determined to drown my memories of Edward in the sweet flesh of this beautiful boy.

I have to say that first night with Nate was fucking amazing, and I do mean that literally. Feeling his sleek body opening to me, that tight velvet grip embracing my aching cock was the sweetest relief, the most incredible heaven, a paradise that had been lost to me since Edward walked out of my life.

All I knew that night was the bliss of another man's hips hot and firm beneath mine, one long leg wrapped tight around my waist, the other heavy on my shoulder, my hands on either side of his gorgeous, pleasure-dazed face, seeing that soft mouth gasping, the blue eyes grown hazy with ecstasy and desire as they stared heavy-lidded up into mine. He was as lost to the sensations as I, crying out huskily - such a fucking beautiful sound - as I plunged deep within that hot, willing body that embraced me.

That night turned into many nights that always ended with us in bed together. It was incredible while it lasted, but I should have known that a rebound relationship never works. I tried, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't seem to move on - not even with that sweet thing in my life. The fact of the matter was, no matter how pretty and sweet and smart and funny and giving he was, Nate wasn't Edward, and masochistic fuck that I was, I just wasn't over Edward.

Nate and I ended things amicably. I just wasn't able to give him the entirety of love he deserved, and I began to believe that I didn't deserve to be loved myself because it was pretty damn obvious that, much as I hated to admit it, I couldn't truly give myself to anyone... save Edward, and he was gone. I didn't know how to live my life without him and that just fucking ate at me.

Sometimes I think I'm too scarred up, too much damaged goods, to truly trust anyone and yet, here I am, wondering if I should dare to trust Edward again, the very person who laid these scars on me, but who also soothes them with the most tender caresses of fingers and tongue and the soft, sweeping stroke of his soul with mine.

...

I can taste blood in my mouth. I've chewed my bottom lip raw again and I can feel the flop-sweat on me that accompanies the nervous adrenaline that has my heart clanging around in my chest.

I wish to hell Edward would just text me back and give me some sort of answer instead of just leaving me hanging here. Damn it!

Maybe I should just jump in the shower, clear my head... but I can't clear my head. Everything lately makes me think of him, of us.

I remember coming in on Edward in the shower once, my gaze sweeping over that gorgeous, sleek, nude body all soap-covered and gleaming with hot water. Giving a loud wolf whistle, I grinned as he whipped around so fast he nearly lost his footing. He grabbed for the towel bar, shampoo bubbles piled on his head, as he turned to smile at me, laughing at his near stumble.

A low groan of desire purred past my lips as I watched as he leaned his head back under the spray to wash away the shampoo foam before it got into his eyes. I let my heavy gaze travel down the wet expanse of his sleek, beautiful body and I smiled as I heard Edward's velvety voice, husky with desire, as he flashed a devilish grin at me and asked me to join him.

I smiled back at him as he slid his arms around my waist, wetting my clothes. He leaned in to glide his lips once, twice, over mine, his sharp white teeth catching softly at my lower lip; then smoothing over it with the silken tip of his tongue, teasing my mouth until he heard a soft, moaning gasp escape me. As he pulled back slightly, I shook my curly head and I embraced him, pulling his slick body tight to mine to deepen the long, slow kiss.

I couldn't resist my shower-sleek Adonis and I stepped into the shower with him, still fully-dressed, and pressed him back against the smooth, wet wall of the shower as I gazed into his glittering green eyes. My voice was rough, gravelly with passion, as I told him I wanted him and I savaged the ivory column of his neck with kisses and tender bruising bites of passion.

Pressing him back tighter against the wall again, the warm spray of water fell smooth and soft as silk over us, as I laid another deep kiss on him - a long, lush, fervent kiss, my tongue sliding in, then out, of his mouth, over and over, delving deeper with each slow, satiny glide into that dark honeyed sweetness.

Finally, panting, I pulled from his intoxicating mouth, smirking at him with swollen lips as I rolled my hips, arching them firm against Edward, rolling my wet, denim-clad erection against his heavy, naked cock and water-slicked, velvety balls, as I groaned, _"I want to fuck you, darlin', a deep, wet, hard fuck..." _

He moaned in answer and I groaned at the slippery slide of sleek skin against coarse, wet denim as I bent to take that sweet mouth again in another hot kiss, trapping him between the wet tiles and the hard heat of my body as he began almost roughly unbuttoning my shirt. He popped the buttons open, causing two of them to pop off completely, which set us both to laughing as I joked with him that he owed me a shirt and he joked back that was fine with him because he hated that particular shirt of mine anyway.

...

So lost in the memories, I jerk, the cigarette nearly falling from my fingers, when the phone suddenly buzzes to let me know I have a text message. Shit, I'm wound up tight as two-dollar watch. I make a mad grab for the phone and I can feel my hand shaking as I press the message button. It's from Edward.

_Will you meet me tonight at O'Brien's Pub at 6:30? _

I glance at the clock. That gives me one hour. I text him back.

_I'll see you there. _

_~~*~~_

45 minutes later, I'm on my way to the pub when I see Edward jogging toward it. _What the hell is he wearing? A track suit? _I grin. God, only Edward could make even something as ridiculous as a track suit look good.

I catch him in the beam of my headlight and he stops as he hears Mae's purr behind him. He's haloed in the streetlight above him that catches his bronze-copper hair, setting it aflame, glowing in the purple, fading light of day. He's so damn beautiful standing there that I feel my resolve weaken. All I want to do is crush him to me, bruise that sweet, soft mouth in a thousand hot kisses, taste the honey fire of him, feel it licking along my veins.

I ride up to him and I see a darting smile flicker over his ripe lips.

I've changed my mind about us going to the_ pub _for our little heart-to-heart. I pull to a stop beside him and set my booted foot down against the pavement, and looking up at him, I nod behind me. "Hop on."

He blinks at me for a moment and gazes back toward his house.

_Well, fuck. Of course. _

I start to tell him just to forget it, but then something burns in his eyes and he nods, climbing onto the bike behind me._ Shit... those arms, fuck, how I've missed them_. They wrap tight around my waist and I feel the warmth of his breath curling against my ear and the heat of his hard, strong body behind me and, I know I shouldn't, but I lean back into him slightly.

Edward's breath grows a little shaky and he grips me tighter and I feel the warm tip of his nose press against my neck, nuzzling into my wind-blown hair and he sighs and a strangled-sounding, soft gasp escapes him as he practically _melts_ against me. A wave of tenderness washes over me and I reach up to bury my fingers in his hair, murmuring softly.

"Shh... darlin', it's okay, E."

For a long moment, I don't do or say anything else. I can't. I just want to sit there, to feel him pressed against me, to forget about our problems – our past, my scars, his lies, my impatience, his fears, my hot-headed fire, his cool dispassion, my trust issues, his marriage, my music, his books. I want to forget all of it, make it _all _disappear until it's just us, just Jasper and Edward... _together_.

~~*~~

* * *

_A/N - I realized when I wrote this that it almost sounded like the end and I thought I might better put a little note down here for clarification. This story is definitely not over. These guys still have a great deal to sort through before we ultimately know what's going to happen to them, so, LOL, alas, they're not riding off into the sunset together. ;) _


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N**__: Grateful thanks to all of you who have left such wonderful, kind reviews and PMs, and those who have added me to your alerts and faves. You have no idea how much that means to me! __**Thank you so very much! :) **__As always, __massive happy hugs and HUGE thanks __to my incredible, wonderful friend and Beta, Val, __**Touchstone67**__, for her friendship, her inspiration, her kindness, her talent, her sweetness, her humor and her time. BB, you are Amazing! Thank you for everything! You're __a Shining Star! _

_Okay, so now for Chapter 7 - usual disclaimers: __**Twilight**__ and the characters therein, as well as the ones I'm man-napping for the story, belong to Stephanie Meyer. I'm just playing with them because I never could resist a fine piece of man...or in this case *two* sexy menz! Also, __one thing about the story: I know most states (but not mine) have helmet laws and I know it's pretty reckless for J&E to ride around on a bike minus the helmets, but for the purposes of this story - no helmets - LOL - sorry! ;)_

_Also, there is something weird going on with FFnet where this chapter keeps randomly disappearing/reappearing - (dododododo - Twilight Zone theme) so I apologize if it's going wonky on you. Hopefully, the issue will be resolved soon. I keep re-uploading the story, but that doesn't seem to help. *sighs* Oh well... hopefully it'll be corrected soon. *prays to the FFNet gods!* _

_**~~*~~**_

_**BEGIN AGAIN**_

**Chapter 7 - **_**Touched and Tangled**_

_**Edward POV**_

~~*~~

The thrumming of the bike, the heat of Jasper in front of me, and the feel of the wind whipping past our faces intensifies overheated passions and the sultry swelter of long-contained desires. All of it serves to awaken my senses in a way I haven't felt in years... ever since Jasper and I parted. And now to hold him again, to see him in the starlight, something of heaven's fire reflected in his amber brilliance, I see us for what we truly are and it feels like shedding my skin. He is the sun - all golden, life-giving sparking radiance and me, the moon - a cool, silvery, remote light.

I tighten my arms around him, nuzzling into the back of his neck, breathing in that familiar scent of him, that honey-bramble aroma that builds an ache in my heart and loins. I love the smell of him, the scent of his sweet tobacco, the leather of his jacket, the smell of his clean, wind-whipped hair, and most of all - that scent that still haunts my memories - the fragrance of his skin that smells to me of warm masculinity and primal desire and tenderest love - southern sun, clean sweat and the purity of his sunlit fire, of pine forests, rocky streams, craggy mountains and dusty trails, a warm amber scent of summer spice and sex that permeates my soul.

I can feel the heat of my arousal throbbing like the engine of the bike as I press tighter to Jasper's strong, muscled back and taut buttocks, feeling the heat and strength of his body as I press into him and I feel him shift slightly, his own desire evident as one of my hands encircling his waist drifts lower and I feel the hard heat encased by his jeans. I close my eyes then, groaning, the sound taken by the wind and the roar of the bike, but I know Jasper hears it, and I know Jasper feels my touch and he answers in kind, a low, gravelly growl groaning back to me as I kiss the soft skin at the back of his neck beneath the fall of his golden hair.

I have always loved the nape of his neck. Something about the tender vulnerability of it - the softness of his skin there, the way his honey curls spill over it, the scent of him concentrated in that hidden patch of skin and warmth, it draws me in. I ache to kiss it, lave it, mark it with a bite of passion, to suck the sweet warmth and golden brilliance that is Jasper Whitlock down into my throat, suckling like a vampire at that fount of his wild, free soul, the sweetness of his life's blood sating and succoring me. I want to draw everything that is him inside me once more, to lap, purring, at the love there while he lays wanton and twisting below me, his fire purifying my soul and filling the hungry emptiness inside me.

Moaning, I glide my tongue against the curve of his neck and he groans as I stroke his erection, growling back to me huskily, "E, Baby, no. You're gonna make me crash."

"No," I groan, clinging to him, the wind lashing tears from my eyes. "Ride, Jasper. Just go. Take us away from here. Don't ever stop... just ride..."

We could run, he and I. We could take off and leave it all behind. Jasper, my wild-hearted gypsy, my renegade poet... I think he would like that.

I know I would.

Jasper leans over the bike then and I feel another gasping breath ripped from my chest, something inside me breaking open - my soul freed, the ropes unbound, and I am flying with him, soaring as he races, my gorgeous mustang pounding, the sway of the world rocked with the primal power of his galloping grace as he takes us away into that beautiful night, our journey punctuated with the throbbing of heart beats like hoof beats and I never want him to stop.

~*~

Far too soon we reach his apartment and I tighten my arms around him even as he coasts to a stop.

_No. Too close to home. We're not far enough away from the tangled web of our lives, and I don't want to get ensnared again. _

He kills the engine and I feel the broad warmth of his hands sliding over mine, that heat warming the cold grasp of my fingers on his waist and over his cock. He leans back into me, turning his head, ripe lips sliding against my temple, and I don't want to move, _ever_, so afraid of bursting this bubble - this tenuous shelter of untarnished love. I don't want to move or to talk or to walk. I just want to sit here, I just want to hold him, to bask in his strength and warmth and love again.

He's moving against me, though, and I feel that coiled strength that glides with muscled grace as he turns slightly, a husky laugh rasping gravelly and low from him.

"Darlin', we can't just sit here all night. We need to talk. Come on. Let's go in. We'll have a beer and talk, yeah?"

I don't want to move, but I do and I stand again on slightly shaky legs, my heart pounding in my chest as I walk with him, following him up the stairs and into his apartment.

I gaze over at the couch, my mind spinning seductive visions of when we were last here - only days ago - limbs and hearts entangled on that cushioned expanse. As if sensing my thoughts, his beautiful, wide mouth crooks up into a sexy smirk and he shakes his curly head slightly, running one hand back through the wind-tangled blond locks as he strides into the kitchen to pull two beers from the refrigerator as I sink down onto the couch.

I try to calm the racing of my heart as he pops the lids off the beers and saunters back to my side again, handing me one. I nod my thanks, grateful for something to cool my overheated passions and the twisting coils of desire and anxiety that twist around my heart as he flops down on the couch beside me, booted feet crossed at the ankles on the coffee table - a picture of carefree insouciance.

He takes a long swallow of his beer and I watch his Adam's apple move with the motion, then my eyes drift up, my gaze locked on those lush rosy lips wrapped around the neck of the bottle and I feel my heart racing again, imagining those warm, strong, silky lips wrapped tight around my cock.

Sighing, Jasper lays his head back against the couch, his jade gaze weary but soft as he rolls his head in my direction, a slow, easy smile spreading across those beautiful lips and I know he's waiting on me to say something.

"I... I've missed you so much, Jasper," I murmur, picking at the label on my beer. "You have no idea how much I've missed you."

His gaze deepens and he licks his lips, and smiles wryly with another low sigh before he leans over to grab the pack of cigarettes sitting on the coffee table. "I've missed you too, my man," Jasper murmurs, his husky drawl soft. "I've missed you every damn day for the past two years. It's like you never left, E, because I've never been able to shake you, and believe me, I've tried."

I don't know what to say to that and I gaze down, rolling the bottle between my palms as I nod, and finally say in a voice barely above a whisper - shame softening the timbre of it. "I'm sorry, Jasper."

"Little too late for that, babe," he laughs a little bitterly then and I see the flickering flare of his lighter as he lights a cigarette and brings it to his lips. I dart my gaze up to his face then, stricken by his words.

"Jasper, please... I... I know I may not deserve your forgiveness but we both made mistakes, so I just..." I trail off, licking my lips before continuing. "Can we not please try to forgive each other and move on?"

My voice is shaky with all the aching of my soul, pleading with the love that still throbs inside me for Jasper to understand, to let go of his cradled resentment and bitterness so that we can forge a fresh start.

He shakes his head with a small laugh and takes a long suck on his cigarette, leaning his head back again against the couch as he pulls the cigarette from his mouth and answers me, smoke pouring in a grey stream between those satiny lips.

"Yeah, you're right, Edward," he answers, rolling the cigarette between long, guitar-callused fingers. "So maybe we both made mistakes but _you_ ran from them. You never gave us a chance to work things out."

"_I _ran?" My voice sharpens slightly as I turn toward him. "When I came back from Italy, Jazz, you were gone! Do you know what that was like for me? How it ripped my soul and heart apart to come home to find you had left me?"

His eyes widen and he turns to me then, laying his cigarette smoldering in the ash tray, the fire in his eyes smoldering brighter.

The purring drawl of his voice deepens into a growl as he answers. "_I_ left _you_, E?! What the fuck? _You_ left _me_ first! Remember?!"

I flush at his words, ducking my head in shame, my lips unable to pour forth the words of regret that crowd in my heart like so many heavy stones.

"Come on!" he continues, his voice growing louder now, passion firing it. "Shit, E, don't play that with me! Don't try to toss that blame at me! You fuckin' left me for Italy... and then you went and got fuckin' married!"

I shake my head, not denying his words, but amazed at the sheer enormity of shared resentment between us. I squeeze my hand around the cold beer, feeling my heart jumping frantic in my chest.

"I never intended to leave you, Jasper. Never. I never stopped loving you! I went to Italy to write, to clear my head, to try to give us some distance to think. We both needed it - it was time for both of us to center again so that we could come back together and start fresh, or so I thought. I was only going for a short sabbatical..."

"A sabbatical?" he laughs harshly. "Is that what you fuckin' call it?!"

Scoffing, he shakes his head. "Edward, you go right ahead and dress it up in those fancy five-dollar words, whatever you need to do to justify it and make yourself feel better, but the fact of the matter is - _you left me _and what the hell was I supposed to think, huh? You just threw it away, E, everything we shared, our love - that shameful secret that you tried so hard to hide. You just fuckin' left it behind and you left _me_ behind but you took my heart with you, Edward. You took my damn heart and..."

He swallows, tears swimming in the green of his eyes as he growls and launches his long body from the couch, sweeping the beer from the table to take a long swig from it as he paces in front of me, his voice raw as he continues.

"...You fuckin' broke me, babe! Don't you know you were everything to me, Edward? You meant everything to me so when you left, you took it _all_! ...Shit!"

I jump up from the couch, my throat tight to see the pain-wracked tremors of him as he paces, torment written in the wet glitter of his eyes and the sharp plains of that beautiful, misery-ravaged face. With a sharp intake of breath, I reach for him, enfolding him and I feel his growl as much as I see it as he tries to push me off him.

"No," I protest, holding tight, grasping his arms, gazing into that beloved but angry countenance, my vision blurred with tears of pain and regret, of sorrow and understanding.

"Jasper, please... Jazz, baby, please... you have to know that I love you, that I never ever stopped loving you. I know I hurt you and I'm truly so sorry. But you have to know I tried calling you from Italy. I was coming home to you. I wanted to apologize, to tell you I was sorry for leaving, for being such a fucking coward and being unwilling to face up to our problems, to work through them as you wanted us to do. I swear to god, I tried, Jasper."

His jaw tight, he swallows and pushes at my waist, stepping back even as I grab for him again with tenacious fingers.

"Goddamn it, E, just... back off, okay?" he commands, holding those long hands up in a staying gesture. "Give me some room to think..."

Hurt, I step back, my own hands falling to my sides, and I hear the defeat in my voice as I murmur, "I know I made a mistake in leaving for Italy, Jasper, but you have to know I never meant to leave for good. I was not ending our relationship. I've never gotten over you. Please believe me."

"You got married for fuckssake, Edward!"

I cringe at the fire in his words even as he rages on.

"Couldn't get over me, my ass! You went and married! Seems to me you got over me right fine and dandy, E!"

I can feel anger rising in me then, a storm lashing inside me to match the fire in those flashing verdant eyes of his. "Yes, I did! But YOU had already moved on, Jasper! I came back to find you had left me and that you had already moved on to someone else!"

"The fuck I did!" he shouts. "Hell, Edward, I was so fuckin' heartbroken and soulless and miserable I couldn't have gotten it up if I'd tried, and I didn't even want to try! If I couldn't be with you, I didn't want anyone else!"

He looks at me, his eyes hard and glittering as he continues, voice rough with angry passion. "I only tried moving on when I knew for sure and certain that _we were done_, when Peter and Charlotte told me you'd gone and gotten married! And you know what?! Shit, E, even then, even when I found that pretty, blue-eyed, sweet thing and we had something damn special, Edward, and even then, I couldn't really make it work because of _you_. I couldn't really be with anyone else because you were hangin' on to that part of me I needed most!"

Shaking my head, I pinch the bridge of my nose, sitting down heavily on the edge of the coffee table, trying to make some sort of sense of his fiery words that scorch my soul, trying to untangle the truth that is buried beneath the flames and pain.

"Wait... Jasper," I say, wanting to reach for his arm, to stop his restless pacing. "Rosalie told me that you had moved on. When I came back to the apartment to find you gone, I was so distraught, so freaked out and I didn't know who to call, so I called her assuming she would know where you were because I was desperate to talk to you, to find you. She told me that you had moved on and were seeing someone else and she said you didn't want to have anything else to do with me."

I watch as his eyes widen, shock evident on his face as he tilts his head, regarding me skeptically. "I am not lying to you, Jasper," I say, reaching for my beer again. "I swear to god, Rose told me that you were over me and didn't want to see me ever again, that you were with someone else. Call her if you don't believe me."

He blinks then and I know he's musing on my words. He growls, clasping his fingers behind his head as he paces and mutters, "Aww... fuckin' hell..."

I take a long swallow of the beer, grateful to feel the cool amber liquid sliding down my throat as I close my eyes. Hearing the sigh of the couch springs as Jasper flops back down on it, I turn to look at him again as he reaches for his own beer and takes a gulp of it, shaking his head as he swallows.

"We both made mistakes, Jasper. We both felt abandoned. We both thought the other had moved on," I murmur then in a pain-husky voice.

He gazes back at me slow and steady before leaning his head back again, his long lashes falling heavy against the curve of his cheek as he whispers in a weary voice, "But I didn't go and get married, Edward."

I nod, swallowing. "I know."

He opens his eyes again then, his heavy gaze boring into mine. "How could you live that lie, man? You're gay, Edward. How could you marry? That's not fair to you or to her... or to me."

I shake my hand, pushing my hand back through my hair. "I thought we were done, Jasper. I told you. And... I'm not... I'm not gay. I think I was just... it was just you, Jasper. I'm only attracted to you, not other men. I love you. I love your soul."

He arches his eyebrow at that, shaking his head with a wry smirk. "My _soul_, E? As I recall from our time together, it wasn't my _soul_ you were sucking on, darlin'!

Flushing, I turn my head, ignoring his snarky comment. "I think I may be bisexual."

He laughs at that but there is no amusement in it.

"You _think _you're bisexual, huh? Fuck, Edward, you're still trying to sell yourself that steaming pile of bull shenanigans, huh?"

"It is not a lie. It is the truth, Jasper. I have made love to Bella." I pause as I see the flash of hurt in his jade eyes as he flinches at the words and averts his face.

"I'm sorry, Jazzy. But, we - Bella and I - were married and I was a _real _husband to her and..."

"_Was_?" he interrupts, turning to me. "You're not a real husband to her anymore, babe? Can't get it up for her? Imagine that! Could it be because women just don't do it for you, E? Come on! What's it gonna take to get it through that damn thick skull of yours that you're _gay_, Edward, whether you are willing to admit to it or not, you are! And as for you being able to able to make love to your wife, tell me the truth, E, what or _whom_ were you imagining making love to Bella?"

I flush at the implication of his words, the veracity of them stinging as I stare down at my lap remembering the times I had made love with Bella, feeling her sleek, soft limbs wrapped around me even as I imagined a hot, hard body moving with mine; long, strong arms and legs wrapped tight around me; blond tangled waves caught in my fingers instead of silken chestnut locks.

Shaking my head, I take another swallow of beer as I feel the intensity and heat of Jasper's gaze heavy on me.

"Have you talked with her yet, Edward? Does she know about you? About us? She's gotta suspect something."

Squeezing the bridge of my nose again I breathe heavily through it as I finally nod. "Yes, Jasper, Bella knows something is wrong. I told you that already the other day. And tonight, she and I talked again. That is why I didn't immediately text you back. Bella wanted to talk with me."

"And?" he prompts, waving his hand for me to continue.

"And we talked!" Even I can heat the defensive note in my strident voice.

I sigh then, continuing. "What do you want me to say? Bella told me she knew something was just not right between us and she was afraid that even with the counseling that we might not be able to see our marriage through. She's unhappy, Jasper. I can't seems to make her happy."

"Because you're gay and she needs a real husband who is in love with her, Edward," Jasper says, his voice softer as he leans forward and lays his heavy hand on my knee.

I don't answer him for a long moment, then sighing, I shake my head, "Regardless of what my sexuality may or may not be, Jazz, I have always tried to make Bella happy and to be a good husband to her and I do love her very much."

"But are you _in love _with her?" Jasper asks, squeezing my knee.

Moaning, I drop my head and I hear the weary resignation in my voice as I answer, "No."

He strokes my knee and I look up, meeting that questioning gaze. "I'm not in love with Bella the same way as I am with you, Jasper. You're right. I still hold your heart, but you also hold mine. I don't have that sort of soul-love, that passion and desire to give to my wife because it still belongs to you. You still possess that part of me."

He holds my gaze for another long moment and I feel the trembling in his warm, broad hand as it caresses my leg, sliding up it as he leans in closer. Heart racing, I turn toward him and I feel his long legs slide around mine as he leans forward. Reaching out, I cup his face, sliding my thumbs over the sweeping curve of those high cheekbones as I gaze into the stormy eyes seeing the wildness, the heat, my own desire and passion echoed in the shining, churning depths of his eyes.

With a soft groan, I lean forward to catch his mouth in a hot, slow kiss, sealing my lips over his, feeling the silken-sweet glide of his tongue as it touches mine, pleasure burning through me with such exquisite power that I feel my very bones melting, turning to water as he pulls me to him. I move to straddle his waist, sitting atop him and we're kissing, growling and groaning, the passion firing through both of us, desire scorching us with tongues of satin fire and honeyed licking flames.

My gorgeous musician, he's playing me... _Orpheus descending_... and I am feasting on him, gorging on his sweet song, lapping at the wild fire of his music that sings through his heart and soul to tremble with a crescendo against my own. It is always such with us... _always._..

The warmth of his hands slides up my back, kneading at the hard, tense muscles, all the lingering tension in me dissolving at the feel of that firm caress, my back arching into the kneading grip with a husky hitching sigh against the lips that plunder mine. Sliding down closer - lips to lips, chest to chest, hips to hips, I groan, suckling at his sweet tongue, pulling it into my mouth, tasting his muffled growls of pleasure, as I feel his long fingers sliding, gliding up and down my back in slow, smooth strokes as I sink into his embrace, the heat of my erection grinding against his as he pulls from the kiss with a husky gasp, his hands cupping and kneading my buttocks as he groans.

"Fuck, Edward, I've missed you... missed this so fucking much... god..."

Smiling against the smooth, long expanse of Jasper's neck, I shift against him, rocking hard into him now, my thighs spreading wider on either side of his slender hips to keep my balance as I dip my head and slowly and smoothly drag the flat of my tongue up under the sharp edge of Jasper's jaw, the scruff there scraping deliciously against my tongue as I nip him, moaning at the slight burn, my teeth scraping against his skin.

With a husky sigh, I breathe hotly over saliva-dampened skin, groaning at the sounds of his low growls of pleasure, my hands sliding from the couch where they had been braced to his broad shoulders, palms flattening, holding him in place as I glide my lips back and forth against him, sucking hard at his neck now, hips shifting, pressing in, cock throbbing harder as I lap at the salt-sweaty skin, my teeth catching at his flesh, tonguing at the rich vein there, groaning as I feel the throb of it against my eager tongue.

Jasper is moaning and I feel his heart throbbing, pounding against my chest. I can feel the trembling of his body as he breathes hard and heavy with low moaned words falling from those kiss-swollen, ripe lips, passion and remnants of angry resentment still lingering it seems as he grips my face in his hands, pushing my head down, his voice low and growling as he tells me to take him in his mouth, to suck him off, and I ache to oblige him with pleasurable penance.

With a soft, husky sigh I slide to my knees between his spread thighs and gaze up into those flaring eyes darkened with desire as I watch with hungry, wanting eyes as Jasper's broad chest starts to shudder and heave, his hands sliding - one on my shoulder, gripping it tightly, the other on the couch, fingers splaying beside him, his hips rocking against me, unable to keep still, cock swelling and trapped beneath the tight denim of his jeans.

Wanting to drag out every precious moment, I rest my cheek against his flexing thigh for a few long seconds, gazing up at him, caught in the heat of those passion-glazed, long-lashed eyes that fire down at me - full of sultry warmth. He slides his hand into my hair, stroking through it and I close my eyes for a moment, basking in that longed-for, remembered touch and I moan, brushing my lips against his thigh, murmuring that I love him, that I've always loved him. And I do. And I always will. I know that now, though, I've never really doubted it.

Finally, shifting up onto my knees, I bend forward then, my lips brushing back and forth along the warm, bared skin just below the hem of his T-shirt and above the waist of his low-slung jeans. And that's when I see it... _words_... a line of tattooed text that nestles in the dip above one sharp hipbone. I gaze up at him as I raise his shirt and I see the flush that steals over those high smooth cheekbones as he meets my steady, curious gaze. The words of his tattoo haunt me: _'I'm lost_'.

"Jasper?"

He releases a long, shaky breath and I see his eyes gleam with the tell-tale sheen of tears as his jaw tightens. He swallows then, the shadow falling from his face as he smiles, tilting his head, a cavalier grin spreading over his lips - that familiar mask that hides his pain. He shrugs then and winks.

"Yeah, I got inked.," he says it quietly, but his voice trembles.

"When?" I breathe, tracing my fingers over the words emblazoned on his smooth flesh.

He rubs his eyes then, laughing lightly and his gravelly voice is soft as he drawls. "I got it not long after you left."

A feeling of shame washes over me then, the sting of tears burning in my eyes as I nod and bend my head, pressing my lips tenderly to the marked flesh that permanently bears the pain and emptiness I inflicted on him. "I'm so sorry, baby," I murmur, whispering reverent kisses over him as if to erase the pain, the mark.

"It's okay, E..." he breathes and I jerk my head up to meet him, feeling heat burning in my eyes, self-loathing firing behind the depths of my eyes.

"It is not '_okay_', Jasper. None of this is okay. I am so sorry for hurting you like this."

He cups my face then in warm, strong hands and I hear the passion and power shading that softly-rasping voice. "I'm sorry, too, darlin'. Okay, so we both fucked up... huge and..."

"No," I interrupt him, squeezing his thigh, needing the fire of his righteous anger to burn away my guilt. "Hush, Jasper... you have nothing to be sorry for because everything you have done has been in reaction to what I did to you in the first place."

Saying the words frees something inside me that has long been trapped there. Some of the black beast that has crouched in my soul for so long now begins to crumble away and the feeling is so strong and startling in its intensity that I pull in a shaky, shuddering breath as I gaze up into his eyes and see a softness burning in the depths there. I gaze back into those beautiful, verdant eyes and a flash of a memory overtakes me.

_I remember the weekend that Jasper and I painted the apartment we shared. I see him shirtless, the gliding of sweat-slick, coiled muscles under smooth skin as he leans up, long body bending as he smooths swaths of paint across the walls. His jeans ride low on his hips and I pause from my own painting to watch him, my eyes drawn to the sweat-gleaming, small dimples above the dip and rise of his buttocks. He's singing with the stereo, his voice honey-sweetened as an angel's but with something of the gravelly fire of earthbound passion shading it. _

_Jasper pauses from his painting and steps back, and I laugh as I notice a splotch of paint has landed on one of his boots. I point it out to him and he laughs, shrugging, his gaze so full of light and laughter that I feel myself melting in the sweet heat of it. He lifts the paintbrush from the bucket, shaking his head as he laughs at the spring green color of it, and he asks me why I chose that particular shade. _

_Smiling, I walk over behind him, kissing his neck as I lay my head on his shoulder and glide my finger playfully against the brush, wetting it before brushing it across the tip of his nose, laughing as he curses at me, protesting. "I love this paint. It's the color of your eyes, Jazzy." _

_He laughs again at that, arching his eyebrow as he reads the name of the paint. "Puckish Printemps?" _

_Shrugging I grin back at him. "Could have been worse. It could have been called 'Puckish Puce'!" _

_He growls at that, and grinning, launches himself at me and we fell back against the drop-cloth spread on the floor, a tangle of lips and limbs, lost in love and each other, our painting temporarily put on hold. _

"Edward?" Jasper cups my cheek and I smile, brushing my lips against his thigh again, my finger tracing softly over his tattoo.

"What?" I ask him softly before I lean forward again, tongue flattening along the dip of his hipbone, my teeth skimming along that satin glide of smooth skin, mouthing hotly, nipping and sucking at random patches of his skin, tongue laving, as I press a trail of fiery kisses to the fly of his jeans and dipping down, I press my mouth against the distended denim that stretches over the cock that swells below, feeling the hot, solid hardness there. I mouth him through the firm material, moving my lips hotly up and down the thick, swollen length, dampening the denim.

I smile to hear that huffing growl of desire as Jasper's head falls back, the cherub curls a marked contrast to the look of wanton, wicked desire that gleams on that gorgeous face. His hips are shifting below me in tiny hitches and flexes, both of his hands now grasping at my shoulders, kneading firmly into them as he begs for me, for my mouth, trying to rub himself against the wet heat of my lips pressed against him.

Unable to wait a moment longer, I reach up to unbutton and unzip the fly of his jeans, jerking at the denim, pulling it almost roughly down over those slender hips and I groan to see he is naked below the denim, that proud gorgeous cock straining, rising from a nest of dark amber curls, swollen and reddened and gleaming with pearly drops of his desire.

"Jasper... so gorgeous, baby..." I murmur, as I wrap my hand around the throbbing base of his cock, moaning to feel the thick heat of it. Leaning in, I lavish soft, stroking licks of my tongue up the vein along the underside, swirling upwards, teasing in slow, wet circles, my breath hot as it puffs over the slick red skin, tongue flicking along the swollen head of his cock, tonguing at the glans, caressing over the tiny slit there to gather those juices that burst with spicy, intoxicating warmth over my tongue and I moan at the familiar, longed-for taste.

Lips sealing tight around the head of his cock, I suck firmly - just the way I remember he likes it, my tongue fluttering along the head as he cries out, hips arching as he squeezes my shoulder in time with my mouth, breathy moans escaping those beautiful, swollen lips. I sway forward some to rest against the couch, my free hand sliding over Jasper's thigh as I move my mouth over him, sucking him slow and steady, in rhythmic, strong pulses, humming deep in my throat at the taste and heat and feel of him inside my mouth.

"Oh god, E, ahhh fuck! This sweet mouth of yours feels so damn amazin'... Ungh...that's it, darlin'... just a little deeper... mmm... oh fuck, you feel so good...."

I smile a little against him, my fingers gliding down to cup softly along the heavy, velvety balls, rolling them gently, loving the soft weight of them against my fingers as I pull my tongue from him and slowly rub just my lips back and forth along the saliva-slick head, my lips sticky, amazed as always at how fucking hard sucking Jasper's cock makes my own. I ignore that sweet torment, however, wanting to visit as much pleasure as I can upon the writhing angel who gazes down at me with such desire-glazed eyes that it's all I can do to keep from reaching my own completion just peering into those wanton depths.

I bend to lick along the head of his cock again, my hand gliding and stroking along the slick shaft as I cradle his balls with my other hand, sucking him deeper inside the wet warmth of my mouth again. Running my tongue smooth and hot along the underside, I circle it slowly up the side of the trembling length then, finally settling into a lapping rhythm of rolling my tongue up and down his hard shaft, coating it with a rich layer of saliva before sliding my mouth fully over him, taking Jasper deeper now, my mouth hot and eager, tongue twisting, pressing, lips tight around him, sucking strong and steady with soft, hitching sounds and hoarse muffled moans - a counterpart to the softly-growled obscenities and murmured words of praise and husky groans that fall from Jasper's lips.

_Oh god, the way he feels... the way he tastes. Oh fuck, how I've missed this, missed him. _

I feel his hand moving now, caressing over my hair, his thumb tucking behind my ear, stroking under my jaw as he slides his hips back and forth on the couch, begging soft and breathy and I can tell from the trembling he is close.

I slide the slick heat of my mouth lower, moving up and down the thick shaft a few times, gliding him deeper each time until I feel the blunt, soft head of his cock at the back of my throat. Groaning at the carnal feel of his smooth, hot flesh throbbing inside my throat, my fingers clench against his thigh and lightly scape against his balls as I moan and concentrate on relaxing my throat, tactile memory settling into my muscles until I am able to take him deeper, breathing slow and steady through my nose before gliding back off him, then sliding back again, taking him yet deeper, tears pricking at my eyes as Jasper cries out almost piteously.

My cock is throbbing so hard that I can't ignore it any longer and I reach down, pulling my own pants and boxers down to stroke hard and firm along my own cock as I work Jasper's down my throat.

Jasper's hips are trembling hard now as he cries out, arching, fucking into my mouth and I moan knowing I've brought him to this state of pure sexual abandon - my gorgeous Dionysus - lost to the bliss of his own sexual frenzy, and I, his eager acolyte worshiping, quite literally kneeling before him.

I take him deeper, suckling, squeezing, holding him tight and close as I swallow, pulsing my throat around the head of his cock, sliding and gliding him fully inside and I feel his hands knot in my sweat-dampened hair, squeezing, pulling at it as he bucks those sleek hips, sliding the thick, hard heat of him deeper down my throat until he cries out, reaching his completion, and he jerks and spasms, thrusting deep as he spills hot and thick in long spurts down my swallowing throat, Jasper's unabashed pleasure sending shudders through my own body as I whimper in want, my lips wrapped tightly around the jerking cock, sucking strongly as I swallow him down, burrowing closer, moaning rough through my abraded throat.

Then suddenly, Jasper is reaching for me, pulling me up and nearly crushing me to him, his mouth covering mine in a hot fervent kiss that nearly steals the breath from me. Groaning, he slides his hand down over me, wrapping around my hard cock, stroking strong and firm with that broad, warm hand and I'm crying out against him, jerking, trembling, feeling the utter rapture of sexual frenzy that only Jasper brings to me with his hot hand and hotter body, his warm, wet mouth and strong arms and the blazing, glorious heaven-fire of his passion.

He bends me back over the couch, whispering warm against my lips, groaning as he tastes himself on my tongue and I can't stop bucking into that strong callused hand, grabbing tight at the rolling muscles of his back, until my cell phone cuts through the sexual haze, ringing shrilly.

Jasper curses (_'Fuckin' cock-blockin' damn phone!'_) and pulls back from me, pushing the heavy blond curls back from his forehead with a groan as I struggle up and jerk the phone from my pocket.

Panting, I glance down to see it's Bella and I feel my heart begin to pound again - this time anxiety sending it careening through me with a cold rush of sliding ice as I glance at Jasper who slumps against the couch, his arm thrown over his eyes.

"Hi, Love," I answer the phone as Bella's softly husky voice vibrates through the line.

"_Edward? Where are you? James just called here to talk to you and I told him that you were on your way to meet him at the pub but he didn't know what I was talking about. What's going on?_"

Eyes widening, I sit up straighter, then bend forward, holding the phone to my ear as I rub my eyes, feeling the black beast rising again from the rubble in my soul, reforming - that iron ebon creature made of guilt and remorse. "I know. I'm sorry. I was... _planning_ on meeting James and was going to call him to meet me at the pub but I decided just to go running instead. I decided I just needed exercise. I just needed a release."

Jasper snorts beside me at that and I turn away from him, rising from the couch. Bella is quiet on the other end of the phone and I feel tears pricking at my eyes.

"Bella? Ah... I... I'll be home soon. I'm on my way now, okay? Do you need me to pick anything up while I'm out?"

"_No, Edward. Just... just come home."_

"I will. I am."

She ends the call then and for a moment I just stand there before finally turning to look at Jasper. He stands, shaking his head as he does up his jeans, his face flushed, eyes unnaturally bright.

"No, Edward," he says, his bright gaze darting over to mine. "Just don't say anything. Please don't ruin this. We both know what we did... what we shouldn't have done, but... oh hell... fuck, Edward..."

He turns away with a husky groan, the heels of his palms pressed against his eyes before he turns and swipes the beer from the table swallowing down what's left of it. He gazes at me then, his eyes sweeping down me with such naked longing that it takes everything in me not to beg him to finish what we started, but no... I can't. _We can't_.

Still, I feel the ripping, rending pain tearing at my soul as I gaze at him and he sits on the arm of the couch, gazing down at his booted feet as he slowly shakes his head and finally asks, "What now, my man?"

I swallow thickly and walk over to him, running my hand through those summer-wheat curls as he sighs heavily, his eyes closing as he leans into me. I hold him for a long moment. "Now you take me home."

He nods and stands up and an indefinable emotion flickers in his eyes as he bends to retrieve his keys and jacket. Grabbing his upper arm, I mutter, "Jasper, I don't regret this. Know that."

He turns to look at me then and says in a voice laden with husky-heavy weariness, "I don't either, Edward, but it doesn't change anything. You're still married. You're still closeted. And we still can't be together. Nothing has changed, E, not one damn thing."

~*~

The ride back to my house is slow, both of us clinging to these last moments together. My mind is a mess of whirling emotions, yet, cutting through that haze of feeling, one thought rings with the clarity of a clanging bell: I can no longer go on living like this - living this lie of a life.

I don't know how to live without Jasper. I can't live without him, and I realize now, that it was completely foolish of me to even attempt that fearful, pride-driven insanity that led me away from him and into Bella's arms expecting her to soothe my shattered soul.

I lean over Jasper's back, shouting to be heard over the whistling wind. "I want to be with _you_, Jasper. I love you. I need you."

He doesn't answer but he leans his head back against me.

We stop a street over from my house and I climb off the bike and stand beside him on the dark street, gazing at his face in the ghostly glow of the streetlights. He looks beautiful, weary, resigned - a lonely, angelic cowboy astride his metal steed. My sad-eyed, sweet, wild-hearted poet that I still so love.

"I'll figure this out, Jasper. I swear. I'm going to find a way to work this out," I promise him, holding on to his leather-clad shoulder.

He smiles a heartbreaking, dimpled, wry smile at me, but the sadness lingers in those haunted eyes. "Yeah, you do that, E."

I gaze back at him, touching his face and he makes a soft sound, grabbing my hand, pressing it to his scruffy jaw for a long moment before he turns his head and kisses my palm. "Go," he says with a soft, sad smile, and just as he did when we set out on our journey, he murmurs, "It's okay, darlin'."

_But it's not okay. He's here. I'm there. We're apart. This is not okay. _

Still, I nod and turn, my thoughts spinning in my head. I know now what I have to do, what I have to have in my life to be complete - _love_ - the love I've only found with Jasper, and I know the price for that love, but I think now I'm finally willing to pay that price, to make that sacrifice. He's worth it. Our love is worth it.

I hear the bike roar to life behind me but I can't bring myself to turn and look at him again because if I do, I'll never make it back to Bella.

I turn the corner and dash off toward the house, my heart pounding with every beat of my feet against the pavement.

~*~

When I get home, the house is quiet but I hear water running and I know Bella is in the shower. I kick off my shoes and pull off my jacket and make my way upstairs to the bedroom. Bella has left the window open to let in the evening air as she likes to do and I step forward to close it now that night has fallen.

As I move toward the open window, I hear the sound of a motorcycle and I stand silhouetted in the bedroom light, gazing out the window as the cyclist rides up, pausing in front of the house as he gazes up toward me. I raise my hand and wave and we gaze at each other for a long moment, before he kicks the clutch and peels off in a cloud of passion and power and I watch him go, slumping down in the window seat.

I hear the water cut off and a few moments later, Bella emerges swathed in a towel, her face flushed, dark hair streaming down her back. She gazes thoughtfully at me as she sits on the edge of our bed and pulls a comb back through her hair. I cross the room to sit behind her and I take the comb from her to brush out the wet tangles of her hair, wishing I could so easily untangle the snarls in my life.

~~*~~


	8. Chapter 8

_**A/N**__: I'm really sorry for the lack of posting/reviewing lately. As some of you know, I've been having major computer fail which is why it took me forever and a day to get this story updated. I've had most of this written for quite a while now (all in longhand *groans*) but I didn't have the computer to get it typed up and posted. . Anyway, the next chapter (barring any other computer issues) should be up a good bit quicker as I've already written (and typed! Woo!) half of it. :) _

_As always, __**grateful thanks and warm hugs **__to __**all of you **__who have left such wonderful, kind reviews and PMs, and those who have added me to your alerts and faves. That means so much to me and I just can't thank you enough! Thank you so SO much! Massive happy HUGS and HUGE thanks and love to __**Val, Touchstone67**__, my incredible, wonderful friend and Beta, who lights up my world with her friendship, her inspiration, her kindness, her talent, her sweetness of spirit and her amazing generosity. Love ya, BB! You are Amazing! Val so kindly made me a Begin Again header which I am totally enraptured with so I wanted to show it off to you guys! I loves it so much! Here's the link to view it - you'll need to replace the (dot) with (.) to see it. I've also linked to it on my profile page! Val, thank you so much, Sweetie! :D__** (http://i636(dot)photobucket(dot)com/albums/uu88/chris_t_1/beginagainlg(dot)jpg**__). Also, *many HUGS* and love to __**Rie**__ (the fabulously-talented **g**__**oldenmeadow) **__for inspiring me with her gorgeous words and a certain image that I couldn't resist using in this chapter. :) _

_Okay, so now for Chapter 7 - usual disclaimers: __**Twilight**__ and the characters therein, including the hotties I'm man-napping for the story, belong to Stephanie Meyer. *sighs* How I WISH they belonged to me! _

* * *

_~~*~~_

_**BEGIN AGAIN**_

**Chapter 8 -** _**Texas Truth**_

~~*~~

**Jasper POV**

~~*~~

For well over an hour, I rode Mae around Edward's neighborhood, the thoughts in my head galloping through me as fast and hard and relentless as I was burning up that pavement. I kept circling back by Edward's house, because I'm a damn masochist like that, and I kept thinking that maybe, just maybe, I'd see him darken that window again, that he'd be there looking for me, waiting for me... just as I've waited for him for all these scorched years. I never truly realized that my soul has been in stasis for so long, but it has, and I should have seen it for what it was, for what I was becoming with my silent withdrawing from society and my paralytic grimace of a smile.

But... even if my head realized it, my heart didn't recognize it, though I guess some part of me knew what I was doing to myself. Even so, I couldn't give it up. If you ask me, hope is the most beautiful,_ terrible _thing in our lives.

Anyhow, I finally gave up and headed to my apartment, back to the oasis of loneliness you'd think I was used to by now, but no... I have yet to grow truly accustomed to that. Man is a social animal. Even the world's biggest, crabbiest, fucking misogynist gets lonely sometimes.

My emotions a tumult tornado inside me, I knew I better get a grip and quick because speed, power and tangled emotions on a bike leads to a torn, mangled body on the side of the road, if you're not careful. Still, it's hard to turn off the feelings when they're running hot and wild through you.

It was a rough ride home with my vision blurred from the wind whipping in my eyes and the salt sting of tears, my cock still throbbing with the remembered warmth and wet heaven of Edward's mouth and throat and the look in those gorgeous fire-kissed emerald eyes as they scorched up at me.

I pulled into the parking garage and killed the engine and sat, giving into the vision of Edward from earlier, seeing those luscious lips of his wrapped around me.

It's a funny thing that even though Edward has this cool reserve about him, there is banked fire just beneath his unruffled surface, a smoldering power that lives in the heat of his eyes, in the sly carnivore smile he flashes when the sex mood strikes him, that burns in the primal grace of his every gliding movement. He's a pretty predator out for a feast of _my_ flesh, tempting me with a sharp gleam of white teeth and flashing eyes, and a strong sleek body poised to pounce; and fuck, I loved it when he'd pounce on me, tackling me down onto the couch or the bed, the floor, hell, even the table.

I love seeing him lose all control; seeing him give in to his desires and letting the fires of his passion rule him, because even though he tries to put out those fires, I know they're there, blazing through him, just below that calm, cool surface.

Edward gives in to his hot passions in bed - pressing his head back against the pillow, stretching out the long ivory column of his neck for me to lave my tongue against, allowing me play to suck at the salty, sweat-slick skin. Deep purring growls thrum out of me in those intimate moments, growls matched by husky groans of desire that fall from his kiss-swollen lips as I fuck him hard and lush or he's rocking inside me, rolling those strong, smooth hips of his with a feline, silken slide which feels like a possession, like he's overtaking me, slipping into my head and my heart as sinuously as he glides into my body. I'm aching for it, aching for _him_, wanting him inside me - body and soul.

With his autumn hair, the wild beauty of those flashing eyes, the pale perfection of that gorgeous face flushed rosy, Edward Cullen in the throes of passion is a rare thing - a creature of mystery and myth and desire - a sylvan spirit that overpowers my soul, taking it, as he takes me.

God, I just want to feel him again - not just the wet heat of that sweet mouth of his - but the tight, velvet heat of his body, too. There is no heaven to compare to the feel of that hard, sleek body beneath mine as I rock in deep, pausing with every hard throb of fiery pleasure that sears through my veins at the feel of him - his clenching, carnal embrace, that warm breath panting heavy against my face, those passion-fired eyes glittering green and desire-wild back at me.

I want to fuck him deep and primal again, like I used to do to him. I want to curl my hips in hard and feel him arching and quivering below me and around me, the smooth wet head of his throbbing cock creaming against my belly. I want to feel his tight wet muscles sliding against mine, his sweat-sleek pelvis and bronze nether curls stroking against my skin. I want to pump that straining length of his in time with my thrusts, smoothing my thumb over his cockhead, swirling those warm, pearly juices, and I want to feel that perfect searing fire of ecstasy rolling hot through me as I pound into him and hear his husky cries of pleasure. I want to see again the rapture burning, dazzling, in those green eyes, his cock swelling and spilling in my hand as I reach my own blistering completion in the tight, warm embrace of his body.

I can never resist him, and especially not when his desire possesses him. Like tonight. I gave into him again - as I always do - unable to resist. As per usual, I'm there to play my part of the poor damn fool willing to barter anything, even my soul and hard-won dignity, for the treasure of him more precious to me than anything else in this whole world. I've paid my dues in pain and tears and swallowed pride. And now, I'm back where I started and I'm asking myself - am I really willing to give up everything for Edward Cullen again?

And honestly, I'm fucking terrified of the answer.

See, the thing is, I'm trying to be strong and resist and not give in, to not bite into that forbidden fruit, but my mouth, hell, my soul, salivates for the taste of it, for the sweet succulence of him bursting in my mouth, juices running hot down my chin, satisfying my hunger, my craving, like nothing else.

Edward is my drug of choice, my addiction, and tonight, I took another hit, and God... I'd nearly forgotten how good it felt, like my whole body is burning and melting and exploding all at once. And all the while, when I'm giving in, he's saying those three little words that I've missed so keenly that it makes my soul tremble to hear them again, and I wanted to tell him that I loved him, too, and I always had and I always would, but some part of me held back and I couldn't speak the words even as they were rearing and bucking in my heart, wanting to tear past my lungs and lips, but I corralled them. I had to.

I couldn't say I love him, though God knows I do, and the hell of it is... he knows I do, too. Even without my lips pushing forth the words, my eyes say it. My eyes betray me every time. He peers right into those soul-windows like a peeping tom, seeing straight through me to the love pulsing there with his name in every crimson drop. But... even so, I didn't give voice to my feelings. Call it my stubborn foolish pride, but I couldn't. I can't. Not yet. Not now. Maybe not ever again.

I don't have a choice. I have to maintain some sort of control. If I don't, my passions will run roughshod over me all over again. And much as I want to take another chance, to ride out the storms of the soul my lightning-lasher rains on me, I just can't, not unless I know he intends to live by his word.

That's the only real worth a man has in this world - his word, his character. It's worth more than gold, more than jewels, more than anything. To be fair though, when your world is tumbling down around you, one of two things are surely going to happen: you either buck up and stay seated in the saddle and you stay strong and true to your word, or you give in to whatever it takes just to stop the pain. Being true to yourself feels right fine and dandy, but if the price you pay for that is heartache and loneliness, well, that price is a bit too dear to pay sometimes.

I should know because God knows I've given in too many times to count - giving in to Edward, to drinking, to self-pity, to my own demons. But, fuck it, I'm not going to sit here and blame Edward for all of it either because while he may have instigated it, I've brought this shit down on top of me right by my own damn self by being weak and giving in to temptation. I could have bucked the demons off my back and rushed away like a wild wind, but I didn't, because it's a cold, lonely trail and I've been without him a long time now, and part of me thinks that if I have a chance to take the life road with him again - am I a bigger fool to take that chance or a bigger fool to deny him?

Hell, if I know.

The truth is, now, all I want is his love and I'm hankering for home, too. And I can't shake the feeling that for me, my home is with Edward.

So I guess it's no wonder why I couldn't stop riding back by his house. I think a part of me wanted to ride up and call out for him, to pull him behind me on Mae and feel those arms wrapped around my waist again, the heat of his body pressed tight to me. It wouldn't be the first time we'd taken off together.

~*~

Three years ago now, Edward accompanied me on a trip back to Texas. It had been a while since I'd been home and part of me was almost dreading it. You know how they say you can never go home again? Sometimes, I believe it's true.

Regardless, I headed home with my man in tow, and if I thought _I_ was nervous, that was nothing to compare to how Edward was feeling.

The whole week before we left, he had a nervous, tight look on his face, pushing his hands back through his hair as he peppered me with questions about where we'd be staying and was I sure we'd have the house in Texas to ourselves. I assured him we would because the house was empty now that Papaw and Mamaw had passed on. No one else in the family had the heart to go in and start boxing up the stuff left behind - a lifetime of memories and family and love. The house and all its ghosts sat there waiting for me to come home again and take care of it. I'd lived with my grandparents from the ages of fifteen to nineteen. I moved in a boy and moved out a man, and I have to say, those years with the old folks were the happiest damn years of my life... till I met Edward.

When Edward and I arrived in Texas, I rented a car and we drove out to my cousin Garrett's to pick up the keys to the house. Garrett was watching over the place till I could get back to Texas to get things sorted. I had a mind to put the house on the market but some part of me just couldn't let it go. It was too much a part of me.

Besides, it was a pretty little house right on the lake and I loved it there. It was quiet and peaceful - good for the soul and good for my music. Something about being there - the serenity and the quiet - inspired me and I'd sit by the pine tree out back and play Scarlet and look out over the lake and see my future in the glassy water, and sometimes I'd sing what I saw. Funny, those visions of the future never included a beautiful, copper-crowned prince with dreams in his malachite eyes and a secret soul of scrolling words...

I knew it was going to be a tough trip for me, going back to Texas, and I didn't want to make it alone which is why I asked Edward to accompany me. I thought he might enjoy being there, and I wondered if maybe it would inspire him as it did me. Sometimes I thought I might one day move back to that little house and finish out my years there just like Papaw and Mamaw before me. And sometimes I wondered if my urbane boyfriend would ever consider living a laid-back country lifestyle. My gut told me no.

As I drove, every now and again, I spared a glance over at Edward, watching as he unconsciously gripped the console as I sped across the pavement, kicking up dust at the roadside. I smiled, taking a swallow of half-flat fountain Coke and reached over to cover his tense hand, squeezing it. He glanced up at me then with a small sheepish laugh, releasing his death grip on the car, and I winked at him over the sunglasses perched halfway down my nose. He smiled, shaking his head, and I watched him as he gazed out the window at the amber landscape we passed. It was so strange and wonderful seeing him here, such an incredible experience riding the tumbleweeds and tarmac with Edward, taking him from the dove-gray fuzzy clouds and rain and ancient trees of the Pacific Northwest to the wide-open, golden-lit skies and cacti of my home state.

When we arrived at my cousin's, Edward turned to me saying he'd wait in the car while I went to get the keys from Garrett. I grinned knowing he was just worried about Garrett suspecting Edward and I were more than just friends. Garrett already knew, of course, but I didn't say as much to Edward, not wanting to raise his anxiety levels that much more. Instead, I tried to reassure him.

"Aww, come on E!" I grinned at him. "Don't be that way, baby. Garrett is cool. You'll like him."

Sighing, Edward took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose as he quietly asked, "What if he doesn't like me?"

Trying to relax him, I slid across the seat nearer to him and began massaging his neck and shoulders, working out the kinks and the tension he always carried there. "'Course he'll like you! You're 100 kinds of lovable, darlin'."

Edward laughed at that, rolling those gorgeous eyes at me, but he smiled regardless and reached up to cover my hand with his own, and his voice was soft as he murmured that he loved me.

That did it, of course. As always, he lassoed my heart with those three little words and one soft glance from those wintergreen eyes, and I leaned into him, nuzzling into that silky, mussed bronze hair. I kissed him behind his ear, tonguing at the small indentation there that his glasses had made and I whispered back, words and breath caressing soft against the ivory shell of his ear, "I love you, too, my man. Always, Edward."

Kissing his ear again, I whispered, "Thank you for coming home with me."

Reaching up, Edward buried his hands in my hair and shook his head. He turned slightly to face me then as he slid his hands forward to cup my cheeks and told me, his voice velvet-soft but emphatic, "No, Jasper. Home is the life you and I have made together back in Seattle. This is where you lived before but your home is with me now."

Touched, I nodded and turned my head to kiss his palm. "Home is where the heart is, yeah? Well, my heart is with you, so you're right, baby"

I kissed him - a slow, soft, lingering kiss of heated breath and the satin slide of tongues and soft whispered words of love between the brushes of our lips against one another. Lost in the moment and in each other, we only parted when the car was suddenly jarred with a thump, and I looked up to see my cousin standing there, banging on the hood with a shit-eating grin on his face.

Throwing open the car door, I drawled laconic and laughing, "Tear up this rental, you smirkin' bastard, and you're gonna be takin' it up with Alamo!"

Grinning, Garrett laughed as I unfolded my limbs from the car, grateful for the chance to stretch my legs, and soon as I stepped out, my smiling cousin gathered me into a hearty, back-pounding embrace before he bent down to speak to Edward. "Hey there! You must be Edward. Good to meet you, man."

Edward smiled, shaking Garrett's extended hand, a flush stealing over high cheekbones. "Hello, Garrett. It's very nice to meet you, too. I've heard a great deal about you."

Laughing, Garrett wrapped one long arm around my shoulders and knuckled my head. "You have, have ya? Well, don't believe anything this joker has to say. J loves the tall tales, which is kinda a Texas tradition so I guess I can't fault him too hard for that."

Edward laughed, nodding, as he stepped out of the car and walked around to join us.

"Well, you boys wanna come in for conversation and a cold one?" Garrett asked, motioning toward his house.

We went inside and caught up and I asked him how his fiancée Kate was doing. Kate was good for Garrett - she was a warm, stabilizing influence in his life. Garrett was a hell-raiser before he met her, but she came in with her sweet southern sass and helped him channel some of his excess energy into a business venture, and together, the two of them ran Drover Dick's - a music club and bar. The club, it would seem, was doing well, too, and Garrett asked if I'd brought my guitar with me because he wanted to see if I'd play a set the next night.

I had indeed brought Scarlet with me - she goes with me practically everywhere - but Edward and I were leaving the next day for a pack ride into the mountains. Of course, Garrett, smartass bastard, had to give us shit then about us '_brokebackin_' it.

I thought Edward would die of acute embarrassment.

We tarried for a bit, then headed out for the lakeside house. Garrett gave us the keys and a joking warning about the place being haunted. I laughed, but he was right. It was haunted but not in the way he meant. I've heard it said that places aren't haunted, people are, and I believe it. I've lived with my ghosts for many years and at times they've been my only companions, and at other times, my sole soul tormentors.

When we got to the house, it was overwhelming to me - a total damn aching of emotions washing over me. Just being there again, all those memories I'd made came rushing back. Growing from boy to man in that little house; learning I was my own person and was not a carbon copy of my mean, drunken bastard of a father; realizing that I was gay - every big moment of my youthful life had unfolded like a yellow rose behind those clapboard walls.

I_ guess the biggest moment of my life, and that which determined the course of everything else that happened after, was coming out. I can still remember Papaw's face when I told him I was gay. We were out on the lake in the canoe fishing and I think some part of me thought that if he didn't take the news too well, I could just jump overboard and swim off... or sink like a log - depending on how traumatic it turned out to be. _

_My leg was shaking like a fly-bedeviled horse, my palms were sweating and I was twitchy as all hell and, of course, Papaw noticed, and he asked me what was going on and if there was something I needed to say to him. _

_Tears were burning in my eyes because I was so fucking nervous, and I remember licking dry, chapped lips and concentrating really hard on the lure floating in the calm green surface of the lake and I tried to imagine I was those placid waters - just that calm and serene. Stealing every bit of strength I had in the reserve of my soul, but still unsure how to say what needed to be said, I finally just blurted it out plain and simple. _

"_I'm gay, Papaw."_

_For a long moment my granddad didn't say anything and I looked at him out of wide, nervous eyes, watching as he threw out his fishing line again, a muscle twitching in his weathered jaw, and meanwhile I was dying and thinking that water looked awfully cool and inviting right about then. _

_After a moment though, Papaw sighed, nodding as he adjusted his hat over his brow, casting his glinting eyes in shadow and I thought it might be to hide his feelings from me. _

_Fuck. Had I disappointed him? _

"_Yeah, son. I thought you might be," was all he said and, at those stark words, I turned to him - surprise flaring in my eyes and writ all over my flushed face. _

"_How? You... you knew?"_

_He smiled a little then, shrugging. "I can't remember the last time you talked about a girl, Jasper, but you get on well with your friends and you're always talkin' 'bout them. I thought, at first, you just weren't interested in courtin', but I haven't seen you show much interest at all in the gals."_

_Swallowing hard, I hung my head, my hands wrapped tight around the fishing rod. "Are you disappointed in me?"_

_He scoffed softly at that, shaking his head. "No, Jasper, of course not. A man has to be who he's meant to be. I believe the Man Upstairs has a plan for all of us, and sometimes that plan is a little more difficult to live for some than others, but I've always felt that the ones who have it the hardest are the ones who can be most trusted to survive whatever life throws at 'em."_

_I felt tears burning in my eyes then and I turned to him again and smiled. "Thanks, Papaw."_

_He winked at me, laying a warm, heavy hand on my shoulder, squeezing it. "I won't lie and say I understand it, but I understand bein' true to yourself. Stay strong, son. Believe in yourself. Be brave, and take life by the horns and you'll wrestle it down. You're a Whitlock. You're gonna be fine, Jasper. I don't envy you settin' out on that life road. Folks aren't always kind to those they perceive as being different from themselves, but if anyone can do it, you can."_

_I set my fishing rod down and hugged my grandfather tightly, overwhelmed with love and gratitude, and he laughed, reaching up to pat my head, scratching through the sweaty curls. "You're a good boy, Jasper, and you're well on your way to bein' a fine man. Don't ever let anyone tell you any different." _

Remembering that moment as I sat with the love of my life in front of that old house, gazing out over the pine trees and the lake behind it, I missed my grandparents so keenly that it hurt me something fierce. I looked up at the front porch, my throat working, swallowing silent tears. I kept expecting to see Papaw sitting there, smoking his pipe and reading the paper. I halfway expected to see Mamaw throwing open the front door, plump arms out as she hurried toward me down the porch steps, saying, "_There's my Babyboy_."

A soft gasp escaped me at the flood of love and nostalgia washing through me and Edward turned to me then, gathering me in his arms. He held me so gently, stroking my hair and down my back, murmuring soft shushing sounds, soothing me with his warmth and his love, while I leaned into him, needing his love and his strength and support, and he gave it to me so freely.

I don't think I'd ever loved anyone more than I loved Edward Cullen in that moment. My own gorgeous, sweet prince, the ruler of my heart and the savior of my soul.

That night we made love in my old bedroom on a soft quilt that Mamaw had made for me when I was ten. Our lovemaking was slow, tender, not the fierce, almost frenzied passion that we often indulged in, but it was nice, and just what my body and soul needed. Edward always knew just what I needed to soothe the storms of my psyche.

The curtains were opened on the window above my bed, and I gazed out at the full moon and a velvet sky strewn with stars. Edward told me once that looking into my eyes was like '_seeing into the center of the sun - just that warm and bright'_. But if my eyes were like the sun, his were surely the moon and the stars - radiant with cool, silvery brilliance - the luminescent, prism light shining in his eyes and flashing up at me with lightning flares that struck at my heart and electrified my soul. His skin like moonlight, stars in his eyes, my prince of night... how I love him.

Afterward, we lay entwined, naked and sweat-sheened, and what I remember most about that moment was the sound of Edward's heartbeat under my ear, a strong, steady, staccato counterpoint to the soft whir of the ceiling fan above us and the crickets and cicadas outside celebrating the evening with their song. That serenade of sound seemed a fitting accompaniment to the song of love that sang in the hearts of the lovers who lay inside those walls - lives, loves and limbs entangled.

~*~

God knows why I'm remembering our trip to Texas. Maybe I'm trying to remember the good times, to convince myself it's worth another shot, that Edward and I can do this, that we can work this shit out and find some way, somehow, to be together again.

The thing is, though, like I told him tonight, despite all our soul-baring honesty and the intimacy, nothing has really changed between us, and we can't go forward so long as he's still clinging to his career, his kingdom and his closet (_and his wife_), and I'm still clinging to my wounded pride and resentment.

Maybe the smart thing for me to do is is just ride off, but as usual, it's a fucking battle royale between my heart and my head with the victor claiming my soul and my future. The truth of the matter is, I already know how this little situation is going to play out. In a showdown between the heart and the head, passion trumps pragmatism every time because the fire of passion always melts the ice of pragmatism. Even so, that doesn't mean I don't have my doubts and my fears eating me alive.

I had a dream last night so vivid that it startled me awake and had my heart leaping like a damn jack rabbit.

I dreamed of a falcon, only I knew it was Edward, and he was so fucking gorgeous dipping and soaring, sweeping lower and lower to the ground toward me, talons extended. And with a screaming cry borne of passion too long held in check, he ripped my heart from my chest. Then, it was Edward the man sitting there, though he still retained the elegant, deadly and beautiful grace of the raptor, and he was crying and cradling that crimson, pulpy thing in his hands, caressing it, and I was screaming at him to give it back to me, clutching at the gory gaping maw of my chest.

It doesn't take a psychoanalyst to know what that dream meant but I've never really put much stock in dreams... because I'm a fool that way, and though I probably shouldn't, I know I'll give in to him... as I always do.

~*~

The next morning I'm jerked awake by the sound of my cell phone ringing and, cursing, I stumble out to the living room to dig it out of my jeans pocket.

_Edward. _

My voice is husky with sleep as I answer the phone, adrenaline pumping my heart awake. "Hey..."

For a moment he doesn't say anything back, but then his velvet voice, sounding strangely strained and quiet, mutters into the line. "Jasper, I... I talked with Bella."

_Oh... fuck me. Finally... _

Too sleep-fogged and surprised to respond at first, I plop down on the couch, scraping my hand back through tangled curls before I reach for my cigarettes and finally ask, "You did?"

"Yes, Jasper, I did."

"Damn, E... are you okay, baby?"

He's quiet and I can see him in my head squeezing the bridge of his nose. He sighs then, a lonely whisper of sound before he mutters, "I will be. Jasper, I need to see you."

My heart races at his words. Though I'm fucking aching to see him, I'm not sure if that's what he needs right then. "Edward, I dunno. I mean, don't you need some time to think, darlin'? And last night..."

"We'll meet in public," he interrupts, a frantic tone shading his voice. "That way it won't be nearly as easy for us to give into temptation again. Jasper, please, I need to see you. I need to talk to you. I need to tell you what happened. I need to... I need _you_. Please meet me. I'm speaking at a writers' forum today at Washington University at one. Would you meet me there? Please, Jasper?"

Tapping out a cigarette, I mull it over for only a second before I'm nodding. _Passion trumps pragmatism_. "Yeah... okay, baby. I'll come. Where should I meet you?"

"Thank you. Meet me in Gerbdering Hall. Try to get a seat in the back left-hand corner of the room. I'll look for you there. Then we'll find some place a little more private...to talk."

I slip the cigarette into my mouth and light it, rubbing my eyes. "Did you tell Bella everything, E? Fuck, how'd she take it?"

"I would rather talk about this with you in person, Jasper. Just... promise me you'll meet me."

I nod, though he can't see me. "Of course, Edward. I said I would, so I'll be there. I promise."

_Don't you know, my man? I'm always here for you. I've been waiting for you, in some fashion, my whole damn life it seems..._

"Thank you, " he whispers again and then he pauses, and I wonder if there is more he wants to tell me, but instead he just sighs and for a moment neither one of us says anything. Finally, though, he breaks the silence, telling me he has to go and he murmurs in a soft, earnest voice, "I love you, Jasper."

There they are again - those three fucking beautiful, fucking painful words, and I exhale the cloud of smoke that chokes my lungs, and closing my eyes, I finally answer back, and even I can hear the weary resignation of sweet, heavy truth and throbbing emotion in my hoarse voice as I tell him, "I love you, too, Edward."

~~*~~

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**A/N 2: **_*****__waves* Okay, so a couple of additional author notes here... first of all, the next chapter is the one that some of you have been asking about - Edward's talk with Bella. I started to jump right into it, rather than posting this little JPOV chapter, but I felt it was important to see where Jasper's head was first and to explain some of the questions a few of you had with regard to how he reacted to Edward last chapter. In addition, some of you have asked what it was like for Jasper when he came out, (especially since he's chomping at the bit ;) for Edward to do the same) so that needed to be addressed, too. _

_Also, just for fun... any Supernatural fans out there? Dean (Jensen Ackles) is my Garrett! :D Love him!_


	9. Chapter 9

_**A/N**: Grateful thanks to all of you who have left such wonderful, kind reviews and PMs, and those who have added me to your alerts and faves. You have no idea how much that means to me! **Thank you so very much! :)** Also, for those of you I'm unable to respond to because your PMs are turned off, please know I truly appreciate your lovely reviews. :) U__nfortunately, I am still having computer issues (grrr...) which explains the delay in this chapter going out. I'm sorry about that. My computer is on its proverbial last legs - poor baby! Anyway, if I'm a little delayed with my replies, that's most likely the reason why, so I apologize in advance for that, but please know that I do appreciate all your comments and will do my best to answer them when I can. Thanks!! :D _

_As always, massive happy hugs and HUGE thanks to my incredible, wonderful friend and beta, Val, **Touchstone67**, for her friendship, her inspiration, her kindness, her talent, her sweetness and her time. BB, you are Amazing! Thank you for everything, Sweetie! Check out her stories for a treat, especially the beautifully-slashalicious '**Lost & Found**' :D_

_Okay, so now for Chapter 9 - usual disclaimers: __**Twilight**__ and the characters therein, as well as the ones I'm man-napping for the story, belong to Stephanie Meyer. I'm just playing with them (because ...ooooh! Fun!!!)_

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_~~*~~_

_**BEGIN AGAIN**_

**Chapter 9 -** _**Major Tom**_

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**Edward POV**

~~*~~

For all of us, there are moments when the curtains of skewed perceptions are pulled back and we see the truth of our lives; we see the man that cowers behind that curtain spun with tangled threads of vanity and pride and fear.

For me, that moment came last night with Jasper - a moment of epiphany borne of the scorching intimacy we shared when we laid our souls bare. I was flayed and purged and I felt more profoundly _alive_ than I have felt in years, since before I left Jasper for Italy, for my career and cowardice, two years past. I faced the vainglorious and ugly veracity of my mistakes, the blinders ripped away from my bleeding eyes that blinked and burned at the illuminating, too-bright glare of _truth_.

I can admit the truth of it now to myself, though it rips and tears through my heart to know the havoc and pain I caused to the one I love above all else and all others. I had broken the most beautiful thing, and to see the agony swimming in Jasper's flashing eyes - anger and resentment warring with desire and longing and love, still, so much love - it forced a sea change in me. I looked into his eyes and I _knew_.

I knew again his love, his fire, his regal pride and steadfast dignity. I knew the pain he lives through, the loneliness he endures, the stoic strength that holds him steady and bolsters him. Jasper lives his life with an honesty of purpose. A mountain - weathered, rocky, strong, staunch, _beautiful _- he is elemental - of the earth with his unyielding strength, of fire with his passions, of water with waves of love and purity of truth and redemption flowing through him, and of the air with his heavenly grace and the beating wings of his true heart. My elemental angel, I envy his strength and tenacity and emotional honesty. Jasper blazes so free and brave and wild in the world. Passion, fire and heartfelt wisdom course like blood through his veins.

It seemed I sat gazing last night out the bedroom window for what felt like hours, though I know it was only minutes. I looked out over the empty street, waiting for that familiar motorcycle to spin by again - a steel stallion pounding, galloping through my tortured psyche with every circuit around the sleeping neighborhood, and I wondered if Jasper felt the weight of my stare. Did he sense my feelings? Could he know of my longing to tear down the steps, to rip open the door and run out to him? I wanted to climb behind him again, to cling to him. I wanted to hold fast to his strength and truth, to escape, holding tight to the wild mustang who ran on hooves of flame like wildfire through the darkened streets.

I wonder what thoughts were circling in Jasper's head last night? I wonder if he passed a restless night as I did, or perhaps he slept - peaceful and relaxed?

Many nights when Jasper and I were together, I'd sit awake, pillows propped against the headboard, the laptop humming in my lap as Jasper drowsed next to me.

_In my mind, I can still see him there, sleeping beside me, heavy breaths puffed from pillowy lips, his curly head pressed into my thigh. The flickering light of my laptop spills over him, silvering his face in a shining luminescence, his lashes smudged with shadows against chiseled cheeks. Gazing at him, the feelings inside me threaten to overwhelm me. I feel adoring, reverent, as I run my fingers through the sleep-dampened curls over his forehead, then down to trace over the contours of that handsome face, smoothing across the delicate high bones of his cheek, the arch of his nose and over the ripe, red curves of those lips I love._

_He makes soft sounds in his sleep and a dream-dazed smile drifts across his face, and he looks so beautiful, so unencumbered, that it stirs something primal and protective inside me, the desire to always watch over him, to touch him gently or with passion, to embrace him with arms and legs, and my body and soul._

_He awakens then, a drowsy, crooked smile, playing over ripe lips that I long to bruise with the passion of my kisses, and I feel his long, callused fingers sliding against my waist and down over my thighs. He blinks up at me with sleep-hazy jade eyes, his honey-fired voice soft and hoarser than usual with sleep._

_"Darlin', shut that thing down. Curl up with me. You need to sleep."_

_I save my work and shut off the computer, laying it on the bedside table and I nestle into the warm cocoon of soft sheets and satin-skinned sinew, smiling as he sighs huskily, pulling me against him, his long, sleepy limbs enfolding mine, his heart beating steady against me, his nose nuzzling into my hair. As if sensing my restlessness, he hums softly and it's almost a lullaby. I smile to myself wanting to tell him, lovely as the lullaby is, it's unnecessary because just lying there wrapped tight around each other, the peace of love and sleep enfolds us like the softest, warmest, most luxurious blanket. We sink into the sweet serenity of slumber, our dreams unfolding together, like our souls._

God knows I miss those nights. I miss him. _My Jasper_...

I remember thinking before I drifted off to sleep entwined with my angel, that being there curled with Jasper in bed was all I ever wanted - that love and comfort and passion, happy in the knowledge that he is the life-giving sun in my life, and I am the guiding star in his - each radiating love and life and light and guidance onto the other.

But somehow I lost my way. I lost sight of Jasper and our love. I was lost in a dark forest, and though his golden light blazed through the canopy of the trees, I didn't have the heart to climb up to it. I gave up and turned away, turning my back on his light and his love... but I never truly turned my heart away from him. How could I when every beat of it pulses with his name?

I long to undo every bit of pain I've ever caused him, to make it all up to him, to reassure him of my love and my determination to see our love through again somehow. I know we can't rewind our lives, but we can rebuild the foundation and fashion a support of love and trust so that we can begin our lives together again. That is my fondest hope.

Longing thoughts spinning in my head, the mad muses tormenting me with hopes, fears and memories, I knew what is required of me - the truth that lays heavy on my heart. Jasper told me nothing has changed, but my honest cowboy was wrong in that respect because everything in my heart, save my love, has changed. I have changed.

For many long moments, I gazed at Bella as she slept, her face smooth, serene, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside me that I would need to unleash soon, gales of guilt and tears of rain that I would pour down on her. Another crushing wave of remorse crashed over me, the black thing that hulked inside me bumping around in my soul. Again, I watched a loved one sleeping in peace beside me, and again, I knew I would hurt one who didn't deserve the pain I was about to deliver.

Even so, it was I had to do. I had to tell her the truth. My truth. The truth that had been lodged in my throat for so long because I was terrified of swallowing it, of choking on it or of it spewing forth in a cathartic release.

I have to accept it, to accept _me_ - the true me that I have denied for so long. I knew it was time for me to acknowledge and accept and respect the man inside me that I have hidden away behind layers of delusion and fear and denial - a self-imposed prison that has trapped him - and me - for years.

I see him sitting there in the prison of my soul, a wild-haired, hard-edged man behind the bars. He glares back at me with sylvan-sparked accusatory eyes, lips set in a determined line, jaw tight, body drawn taut, fists clenched. Inner Edward is angry, raging against the bars I trap him behind, pacing like a panther, leaping against the black iron with a snarl and flashing eyes. He is furious at my denial of him which has, in turn, denied him (and me) of any chance of real happiness and love. Inner Edward has a primal passion and honesty that is a twin to Jasper's, and I know that Jasper knows and loves, despite the wild savagery, this vibrant inner soul of me that won't be denied.

Trembling in anxiety, not wanting to awaken Bella to the sound of the tolling death knells on our relationship, I suppose I needed something to spur me into action, and I created a gorgeous phantom in my head. I saw Jasper leaning against the post at the foot of the bed, a lazy smile sliding over his lips as he lifted a cigarette to his mouth. I watched the small red spark smoldering between his lush lips, casting his face in flame before he pulled it from his mouth and shook his wavy, golden head, winking at me with a low, affectionate and sexy laugh as he told me to_ 'get a grip, get over myself and get it over with_.' The vision was so startlingly clear that I rubbed my eyes, astounded at my own delusions.

_That's just fucking brilliant._ Now, not only did I have an angry Inner Edward, I also apparently had a taunting, teasing phantom Jasper, surely the sexiest of the furies ever to torment a soul. Was I going mad?

Mad or not, delusions or illusions, it didn't matter. Much like dreams, the actual details aren't the crux of the matter; what truly matters is your perception of what your subconscious, your inner soul, is trying to tell you, and it was very clear what mine was telling me.

It was time for me to throw open the gates of that prison of the psyche, time to set Inner Me free.

And so, heart pounding, I awakened my wife. I owed Bella the truth. She needed to know me... truly know _me_, all of me.

_~*~_

And now, the scalding light of morning has come and I'm where I said I would be today - at the university. I delivered my talk but I can hardly tell you what I said. It felt rote, memorized, cold. I watch as the students file out of the auditorium, my heart somewhere in my throat. I feel so disconnected, so out of it. Like the lost astronaut _Major Tom_ in the old David Bowie song, I felt like I was drifting, falling, twisting weightless through space, longing for home, my home in Jasper's heart, but unsure if I'd ever live there again.

_Houston, we have a problem. _

Where is Jasper?

I know I do not deserve the luxury of wounded disappointment that Jasper hadn't come, not after everything I've done to him. In his shoes, perhaps I would do the same. Even so, it still tears at me, and the entire time I had been speaking - feeling that untethered disconnect, feeling like an automaton - my eyes couldn't stop their ceaseless darting to the back left corner of the room, aching to see that sleek golden form sauntering over to take a seat, the long limbs folding graceful and languid into a chair, those arresting eyes darting to mine with the power and precision of a laser.

Lost in my thoughts, I barely hear my fellow panel speaker saying something to me, and I turn to him with a vague, polite smile and a nod, pulling off my glasses to rub my burning eyes. I hear James then as he mounts the dais and laughing, slaps his hands down on the table, his voice grating as he yammers at me. Glumly, I nod as he says he's going to see about arranging a special signing here at the University for the following weekend.

"What's wrong?" James asks me then, his sharp, predator gaze locked on mine.

"Nothing. I just... I had a restless night last night is all. I'm tired."

"No rest for the wicked, Eddie! We have work to do! Listen, I'm going to go talk with Campus Relations and see what we can work out with that signing. I'll give you a ring this afternoon and let you know what I find out."

Nodding again, I sigh. "Yes, okay. Thank you, James."

I don't even look up as he darts back out the side, following in behind the other writer and I wonder if he's trying to secure another client. With a wry, bitter laugh, I smile, shaking my head at the thought. Of course he is. James is a hunter, a tracker. He is a hound after elusive prey.

Shoving the papers into my satchel, I glance up as I hear the doors at the back of the room creak open and the sound of talking and laughing students beyond it.

And I see my angel.

Jasper is there - that longed-for figure haunting the doorway, peering inside, golden hair haloed by the sun streaming in behind him. Tall and sleek and beautiful and looking for me.

Heart pounding in my throat, I sling my bag onto my shoulder and hurry up the aisle toward him.

"You came." I can't help the smile that I can feel stretching the sorely unused muscles of my face as I reach his side.

Flashing a smirk at me, he seems inclined to make a sly joke about my comment but thinks better of it and shrugs. "Of course, I did, E. I would have been here earlier but I got held up by a damn campus cop for not having a visitor's permit. Can you believe that shit? Fuckin' bureaucracy."

He laughs then but it seems a little strained and his smile doesn't quite reach those darkened green eyes. I see the worry that ghosts over the rugged, arched planes of his face, the slight pursing of those ripe lips, a flicker of some indefinable emotion in his eyes. Jasper doesn't wear his feelings on his sleeve. He wears them on his face.

"Do you want to take a walk around campus and talk?" I ask him, reaching out to lightly touch his hand, just needing to feel his golden warmth against the cool ivory of my own hand.

His eyes flash to mine and he nods with another lazy, dimpled grin. "Lead the way, my man."

I smile at the familiar term of endearment and I wonder if he even knows it slipped out. I lead him down the sunlit hallway to another set of doors in the back that leads out to the quad.

We walk quietly below the cherry trees, and for several long minutes we enjoy the ease of silent companionship.

Jasper saunters graceful and long and loose-limbed beside me, his gaze darting every now and then to mine. We walk over to a more secluded area of the park-like quad and he stops then, leaning back against one of the trees as he reaches up to idly pluck a leaf from a low-hanging branch. I sit down on the bench beside the tree, watching him, the sight of him soothing me, refreshing me, like a long, cool drink of water.

I gaze at him for a long moment, then let my eyes drift upward. The leaves are beginning to change. Autumn is arriving to cover the trees with its bright coat of flame-kissed colors. Autumn is my favorite season. I associate it with scent - the smell of cinnamon and apples, of baked pumpkin and sweet spice, the scent of new books and clean white paper and the seductive smell of ink rolling across the blank page decorating it with the dreams and fears of the soul. I love the colors of autumn - the bursting vivid glory of it, the crimson and gold-bedecked trees. Autumn is the season of books and study, of harvest and filling food, of finding quiet corners to read and gazing out over rain-slicked ground from a window in a warm room. It's the perfect season for curling up beside a fire with a loved one, wrapped in an embrace warmed more by the love in your hearts than the heat from the dancing flames.

I met Jasper in the autumn - my gorgeous musician who blew into my life like a tumbleweed brushing against my soul, a wanton cowboy angel with the sultry south in his eyes, golden honey hair, music springing from his magic fingers, the devil in his dimples and sweet sensuality in every slow-drawled word that spilled from his lush mouth. Tall, amber Jasper with a smile like sunshine and a heart to match. He came like Prometheus - fire-bringer - a god bringing light, heat, passion, the promise of spring and the smoldering heat of summer into the crisp, cool, stately autumn of my life.

The first declaration of love Jasper and I shared together was during a walk one crisp October morning five years ago. Even now, I can still smell the scent of burning leaves in the air, see the bright crimson and golden glory crowning the trees around us, and I hear the soft crackle of the fallen leaves as we walk over them.

_Jasper whistles softly, his easy grace seducing me into keeping a slow, steady pace with him. I joke with him about his 'moseying along' and he laughs and reaches for my hand, clasping it in a tight, warm squeeze._

_I smile, enjoying the quietude of the moment, the peace of being with him, my gaze darting from the brightness of the trees to the glitter of his eyes. He catches my glance and I smile wider, gazing down, bumping my shoulder with his. I notice then for the first time Jasper's feet are encased in horrible, scuffed-up, paint-stained boots, and I jokingly comment on them._

_Laughing, Jasper pushes his broad shoulder against me lightly and answers with a wide, dimpled grin that he knows the boots are "fuck-ugly" but they are his "lucky boots."_

_"Lucky boots?" I chuckle softly, amused. "I've never heard of fortuitous footwear. You should go into the shoe-making business, Jasper. I've heard of a brand of denim called Lucky Jeans, so imagine the success you'd enjoy with Lucky Boots by Jasper."_

_"Smartass," he drawls then before laughing again, a dancing light in those golden-green eyes - springtime meeting the autumn of my own deep green gaze - as he pushes me back against a tall oak and nuzzles against my neck, his nose stroking the curve of my jaw, the stubble of his cheek a delicious rasp against my skin as he chuckles huskily._

_"Mmm... don't believe me, babe?" he murmurs, his voice a raspy drawl against my ear. He curls his tongue around the lobe, suckling it softly until I moan and he growls throatily against me, the sound thrumming and vibrating from his chest against mine._

_"Need some proof of boots-spurred mojo, huh?" he murmurs, "Well... here's the thing, I can already feel them working their magic on you."_

_And with that, he grinds his hips and pelvis with smooth, sleek strength into mine, pressing against my hardness as he grins at me slowly, a devilish dare dancing there, despite the angelic curls of his hair, as he whispers low and sultry, "I think I'm going to get lucky with you, my man, so yeah... they're my fuckin' lucky boots."_

_"'Fucking lucky', Jasper? How prophetic," I tease._

_With a soft huff of laughter, he smiles, groaning as I slide one hand down between us to cup him, feeling the heat of his erection through his tight jeans. I remind him then that he'd already 'gotten lucky' with me that morning and I joke with him, calling him a 'horny bastard'._

_But the truth of it is, then, as now, I love Jasper's passion, his desire, his eternal driving hunger._

_I bury my hands in the warm silk of his wheaten hair as he leans forward, sucking and biting at my neck and I arch my hips against him, driving the heated evidence of my own raging desire against the hard heat of his thigh, cursing soft and tender as the lushly-biting mouth relinquished its hold on my neck and moves to meet my lips in a passion-drenched kiss that tastes of copper and life and love and unity. When he pulls from the kiss, mouth puffy and pink, eyes blazing, I feel the warmth of his breath and taste his exhalation when he leans his forehead into mine and breaths out, "I love you, Edward, my man." _

_The soft words wash over me, the touch of them gossamer against my heart, as soothing and beautiful as the soft, rasping purr of the voice that murmurs them. My mouth fastens wet and suckling to the warm, enticing curve between his neck and shoulder, and I answer him in kind, my own voice soft, trembling with reverence, muffled by the warm silk of his skin, as I tell him I love him, too, echoing the passion of my words with biting-soft kisses, pulling him tight to me with palming, gentling hands against his back._

_Later, at the apartment, we make love to celebrate the birth of our admitting our love to each other. We revel in the sweet realization that we are truly, irrevocably, in love. I arch straining, sweating upward from our bed, sliding one hand down to knead the curves of his slick, taut buttocks; our bodies pushing, tensing, rolling against one another as we move together, striving for that final perfect release, that shattering nirvana that we only find in one another's arms._

_I'm groaning, the heavy pleasure washing through me, my eyes rolling back in my head and closing as Jasper's hard, slick length swells inside me. I growl and cry out below him, bucking up into him as he rolls sleek, sweat-sheened hips closer, smoothing them tight and intimately into my own grinding hips. His mouth parts in a slow panting gasp, storm-dazed eyes languidly opening again as I lean up on my elbows, fisting my hand in the golden sweat-soaked waves of his hair, pulling him into an almost savage, bruising kiss that belies the supple, pulsing rhythm of the intimate dance we share._

_Soon the journey is over and we fall hazy, warm, satiated -- two souls glowing in a bond of unity, belonging and perfect, in complete and utter love._

_~*~_

"Edward?"

Jasper's voice draws me back from my musing and I gaze up at him, my eyes still desire-darkened at the memory. I wonder if he notices it because he smiles again slow and sexy and slides down onto the bench beside me, his arm stretching across the back of it, brushing against my neck and shoulders, long fingers stroking the curve of my arm.

"You said you wanted to talk to me, darlin'. Talk to me, Edward. Tell me what happened."

I take strength from the heat of him, the warm, golden steadiness of his voice that washes over me and I sigh, gathering my thoughts.

Jasper is uncharacteristically patient. He waits quietly for me to begin, but I feel the warmth of his breath against my cheek and neck and he slides closer to me on the bench, our thighs brushing, and I feel his heavy hand squeeze my shoulder. I'm grateful for the reassuring touch as I begin to tell him what happened the night previous.

**~*~**

"Bella, Love, we need to talk. There's something I need to tell you."

It feels like I am trying to swallow around my heart that is lodged hot and tight and pounding in my throat as Bella sits up. Her eyes are drowsy still, but her face tightens with worry as she sits up beside me in the bed, pushing her pillow against the headboard. She brushes the tangled hair back from her pale face, her eyes dark, wide, as they gaze back at me in the low light of the bedroom, and looking into those eyes I nearly crumple at the weight of that heavy stare, feeling shiny daggers of unspoken but well-founded suspicion plunged into me.

It feels like I am dying.

Despite the worry that is written all over her face, Bella reaches for my hands then and I feel my eyes burning with tears. My heart is beating faster - hard and tight as a drum - and I think she must surely hear it.

"Edward, what is it?"

I bite my lip so hard I taste the iron flavor of my own blood, and I'm reminded of the iron bars that entrap Inner Me which gives me a jolt of much-needed determination to say what I need to say. I don't even feel the pain of the bite, only the pain of my heart that pounds at the shattering truth I have to tell her.

"Bella, I... I've thought of how I needed to say this to you, what I need to say, for so long now. I... I owe you the truth, Bella, but I haven't said anything before now because... because... oh god..."

The words stutter from me, my soul stumbling on the journey toward truth. I take a deep breath, trying to calm the tremble in my ravaged voice and in my shaking hands that she holds in her own small, pale, delicate hands.

"Edward..."

"No, please, Bella, let me finish because if I don't say this now, I may never have the courage to say it again."

Her brown eyes widen but she nods and my soul shakes to see the anxiety so evident in the shivers she tries to hide as she lets go of my hands then and reaches for her robe at the end of the bed, slipping it on.

"Bella, I haven't said anything because, well, I haven't had the courage to admit the truth of it even to myself, really, until now."

"Oh god, Edward. What is it? You're scaring me."

"I'm sorry. I scare myself sometimes." I try to smile but it dies on my lips.

For a moment looking into those sad, worried eyes, I nearly falter, but then I see again Jasper's resigned, sad gaze, the jade eyes normally so warm and full of light and love, darkened with resignation, and seeing that vision strengthens my resolve. I'll do whatever it takes to keep those bright eyes of his smiling. I had to see hope and love firing those gleaming depths once more.

"Bella, I think... no, I know... I..." I lick my lips, pushing my hand back through my hair as I take a deep breath.

_Just say it. _

"I'm gay."

I expect to hear her gasp, for her eyes to widen, for her to pull back in surprise and anger from me, but she doesn't do any of those things, and instead, it is I who am shocked when she sighs and closes her eyes, nodding. She murmurs in a soft voice, clutching the chenille fabric of her robe tight around her petite frame, her voice as fragile and soft as a falling leaf, "I know, Edward. I've thought for awhile that you might be, but I had hoped I was wrong, that our marriage wasn't a lie and that counseling would fix our problems."

Blinking at her, near gasping, I shake my head. "You suspected I was gay? But how? Why? I don't... Bella, I don't understand. How did you know?"

She smiles sadly, almost wryly, at me then, shaking her dark head. "At first, Edward, I just thought you might not have a very strong sex drive. We don't have a marriage like most newlyweds. It's almost like we're roommates who happen to share a bed and a life together. I thought, at first, it was just me, that maybe you'd fallen out of love with me, and I didn't know what I could do to change it, to make you love me again. I resented you so much for it, Edward. I resented the fact that you made all those insecurities rear up inside me and I was so angry, but I tried to hide it, and I guess I succeeded because you never knew how I felt, or maybe you just didn't care enough to look closer."

I hang my head at her accusing, but true, words and nod, shame drowning me as she continues.

"One day, I found a box of papers. Inside it was an old manuscript of yours and I thought I might try to get it bound for you because I felt bad about how cold I'd been acting toward you. So I was going through the papers and I found buried beneath them an envelope of pictures. They were pictures of you, Edward, pictures of you with another guy, a handsome blond guy, and you were laughing and leaned into him, and... damn, Edward, I've never seen that happy expression on your face before, and _I _certainly have never brought that smile to your face. It was the face of someone in love, Edward. I knew in my gut that you were in love with that guy when the picture was taken."

My eyes widen, heart jumping, stuttering in my chest. _Oh god, oh god, she found the pictures of Jasper and me. _I feel like a small battered ship in the midst of a storm, and Bella, a rogue wave overtaking and drowning my battered vessel.

"Bella, I..."

"No, Edward, let me finish!"

I nod, swallowing hard, my face flushed.

"There were so many pictures of the blond guy - playing a guitar and grinning at the camera; asleep on a couch; on a horse with the sunset behind him; shirtless and sprawled across a bed. Edward, I'd have to be an idiot not to know they were pictures of your lover. Those were not pictures of a friend, a _buddy_. They were intimate. And that's when I began to think that maybe the problems you and I were having weren't because you didn't love me, but you couldn't love me in a romantic way because I was the wrong gender, and I suspected you might still be in love with the blond. Who is he, Edward?"

Hearing Bella speak of Jasper, of her knowing the truth about me before I was even willing to admit it to myself, causes fresh waves of shock and shame to wash over me. I flinch as she asks me who Jasper is and I am torn between telling her the truth and protecting Jasper - at least in my mind - by preserving his anonymity.

"Bella, I... oh my god, I'm so very sorry. I never meant to hurt you."

"Don't say that, Edward! It doesn't matter what your intentions were because you did hurt me. Look," she licks her lips, her hands clenched tight in her lap as she gazes hard at me from tear-glossy eyes. "I'm not angry about you being gay, okay? I know that's just the way you're made, like my being straight. I would never fault you for your sexuality, but damn it, Edward, I do fault you for lying to me! Why did you marry me when you damn well knew you couldn't really love me, not as my husband in the traditional sense?"

"But that's not true," I protest weakly, shaking my head. "Bella, I wasn't convinced I was, in fact, a gay man. I thought maybe I was bisexual because I did feel love for you. I do love you, Bella. I know I've lied to you, and I'm sorry, truly I am. You don't deserve to be disrespected like that, to be lied to, but you have to know that I did and I do love you. I truly thought I could make it work with you."

"But you couldn't make it work with the blond guy?"

I blanch, pinching the bridge of my nose.

"Who is he, Edward?"

I know there is no more room for lies, and yes, I know I owe her the truth, but again, I am warring with myself about telling her about Jasper, but finally... reluctantly, I give in.

"His name is Jasper."

"And he was your lover?"

I slowly nod, picking at a stray thread in the comforter, heart in my throat again. "Yes. Jasper and I were together for three years. We were together until two years ago."

"That's longer than we've been married, Edward."

I nod glumly and she gasps suddenly, causing me to look up sharply at her.

"Wait! Two years?! When we were in Italy, Edward? Did you break up because of me?"

"No!" I hurry to reassure her, shaking my head vehemently. "I mean, yes, it was two years ago, but no, Bella, you didn't cause the breakdown of the relationship that Jasper and I shared."

I sigh gustily, pushing my hand back through my hair, tears stinging in my eyes. "I did that all on my own. I broke Jasper and I apart."

Bella is quiet for a long moment, but then it seems her curiosity overrules her pain and she asks me why and the question is so frank, so simple, yet I still don't really know how to answer it, or perhaps... more truthfully, it hurts to answer it.

"I don't know, Bella. Fear maybe? I was scared of myself, scared of the intensity of my feelings for Jasper, perhaps. Scared of admitting I was gay. It was any number of things. I'm ashamed to say that fears for my burgeoning career also played into our break-up. I was afraid of the impact my sexuality would have on my career and I was advised to hide it."

She gives me a long, scoffing look at that and I know I deserve it.

"I was stupid and cowardly. That's why we were torn apart, Bella."

My words escape me in a ragged rush and finally saying them should free me, I think, but it doesn't because I still hurt and ache for the cutting blade of truth that cuts into me. I hurt in shame at having inflicted such pain on Jasper and on Bella because of my own cowardice. I hurt for myself, for the years of love I lost with Jasper, the happiness and understanding I have denied him - and myself - for so long.

Bella is quiet and I look up at her out of tear-scalded eyes to see her own dark eyes gleaming anew with tears, but the words she says next are not at all what I expect to hear.

"Edward, the truth is you're not the only one who is ashamed, okay?"

"At being duped into a loveless marriage with a coward..."

"No! Fuck! Could you cool it with the self-loathing for a moment and just listen to me now?"

Flushing, eyes wide, I nod and apologize.

"Look, Edward, the simple, sad truth of the matter is we have a mutually-beneficial marriage. I've suspected the truth about you for awhile and rather than talk with you about it, I ignored it and hoped it would go away, that we'd find a way to work through it because you know what it's like for me at home - the shit I had to deal with there and how desperate I was for some security and normalcy in my life. I just wanted to feel safe and loved, you know? That's all I've ever wanted and you came along, and you were everything I needed. You were my white knight - handsome and sweet and giving and gentle, everything I ever wanted and hoped to find, and I thought you were a dream come true."

I swallow and sigh. "And I've been a nightmare. Bella, I'm so sorry.."

"Shh... let me continue. I always felt safe with you, Edward. I felt like nothing bad could ever happen to me so long as I had you. I didn't see you for who you really are because I saw you for who I needed you to be. Even when I began to worry about our relationship, and even after I found those pictures, I tried to fool myself and nearly convinced myself that we could work it out because I needed you to be my white knight. I needed your love and security, and... you needed me, too."

I nod. It seems everyone around me can speak the truth so much easier than I can. I make my living by words, yet words are the very things that cause me to falter, words I can not bring myself to speak.

"Edward, you needed to convince yourself that you were straight or bisexual or whatever, and you needed the happy husband, happy wife image. And I needed what you gave me, too - security, safety, calm, and yes, even love. Maybe you couldn't give me desire or passion, even when we made love, but even so, I knew you loved me in your fashion."

"Present-tense, Bella. I still love you."

"But you're not _in love with me_, Edward. That hurts, but I get it. You're gay. I just wish we both could have been honest with each other before now, and especially before we wasted all that money on counseling."

She flashes me a wry grin at that and I smile a little, but my thoughts are still whirling, and I am trying to make sense out of everything, and I'm having a difficult time doing so.

"I'm sorry, Bella. I'm so sorry not to have been honest with you from the beginning. I'm especially sorry for hurting you."

She shakes her head. "I'm sorry, too, and I really don't know what we should do now."

"Let's just..." I push my hands back through my hair, still trying to order the thoughts that circle in my head. "Can we just..."

"Sleep on it?" she asks.

"Yes, please?"

She gazes at me then, her beautiful face falling as the reality of our words, of our situation, seems to sink in and she takes a long, shuddering breath. I reach out to her, enfolding her, holding her, rocking her, rocking us.

**~*~**

Jasper is quiet as I finish telling him about what I've told Bella. He sighs, leaning back against the bench, his fingers still gently stroking my arm.

"Edward, are you okay, baby?" he asks me softly, and I shrug.

"I don't know, Jasper," I answer him starkly.

He makes a soft sound in his throat and I turn to gaze at him, watching the flickering emotion play over his face. He beats his fist lightly against his denim-clad thigh, gazing up at the tree above us, seemingly lost in thought. I wait for him to say something else.

Finally, he does.

"Did you tell Bella about us? I mean, about seeing me again? Did you tell her everything, Edward?"

My eyes flare and I feel a spark of irritation. After everything I've just told him I told Bella and he feels I should have told her more?

"Jasper, how can you ask me that? I broke my wife's heart by telling her our marriage was a lie and that, while I loved her, I wasn't in love with her. Wasn't that enough pain to lay at her feet for one night without also hurting her by telling her that I was still deeply in love with you and that I'd seen you again..."

"And sucked me off?" His eyes glitter with barely-withheld emotion. "Don't try that with me, babe. I don't doubt that you hated hurting her, E. Hell, who can blame you for that? But come on, don't try to pretend that you didn't tell her about us out of some sense of misguided protection. Well..., actually, fuck that, it is protection, but you're protecting yourself, Edward."

"What's wrong with that?" I leap off the bench then, anger coiling inside me. "Self-preservation is a very human trait. Forgive me for being so fucking human, Jay!"

He frowns at me, then strangely, he laughs, shaking his curly head with a gusty sigh, bowing his head, the very picture of a kindly Southern gentleman, his voice soft and almost tender, poignancy shading the whiskeyed roughness of it. "You're never gonna get to the heart of the matter by lying to yourself, baby. I'm not trying to hurt you, Edward. I just thought you really wanted to give this thing another shot, and I have to tell you, the only way that's going to work is if we do things differently this time. No more lies, E. We have to trust each other, and I want to trust you, but I can't so long as you're still lying to yourself about things as important as us. Don't you think Bella wonders what prompted you to just suddenly decide to out yourself? Think about it, Edward."

"I have thought about it - incessantly! It's all I've been thinking about lately - us! Christ, Jasper, don't you know, can't you see what this is doing to me, how it's fucking ripping me apart to not be with you?! How can you not see what this is doing to me, too, Jasper?"

"Whoa! Now, hold up there, babe," Jasper gazes hotly up at me, his green eyes flashing, high passion coloring his cheeks. "You were just crowing about self-preservation, and yet here you are getting all fired up at me for trying to do the same thing. I don't want to be broken all over again, Edward."

"But you're not really hearing me, Jasper! I want you so much and for you to hold yourself back from me... it kills me. It feels like forever until I'm with you again. The nights are the worst. I'm lying awake thinking of you, or you're haunting my dreams."

Groaning, I turn toward the tree, leaning my head against it, my hands curled into the rough bark. "I'm sorry."

"Edward, darlin', you just keep apologizing, but it's just words. And yeah, I appreciate those words and I appreciate you talking to Bella, but..."

I feel his warmth behind me then as he braces his hands against the tree on either side of me, his breath warm against my neck, stirring my hair, as he murmurs, quieter now, his voice a rasping purr. "If you want us to be together again, Edward, truly together, you need to own up to the fact that we still love each other, not only to me and yourself, but to everyone else, too, like Bella, because I've got to tell you, much as I love you, I can't go through the lies and the shame that will drive us apart again. I love you, Edward, and I always will, but I can't be with you until you can truly be with me in every sense. If you'd be honest and live what you mean, baby, I'd give you anything. You know I would."

I press my forehead into the bark of the tree and sigh heavily. "I know, Jasper."

I pull back from the tree then and I lean back into him and I feel him take a long, shaky breath before he steps back and I turn to him, searching his eyes. He gazes at me for a long moment, then turns away and I feel a flare of panic that he's leaving.

"Jasper!" I reach for his arm and he looks over his shoulder at me, his eyes glimmering with unshed tears, as the words fly fast from me, desperate to keep him there with me. "God, this cold regret about what I did to you, to us, chills me to the bone. I'm a self-saboteur, my own worst enemy, Jay. I know that, but I also know that I will do anything to have you back, to feel the warmth of your love again."

A weary long sigh escapes him as he breathes, "Don't say it unless you really mean it, Edward, because I can't go through this all over again."

"I mean it, Jasper. I swear I mean it. Do you want me to call Bella now and tell her with you sitting right here beside me because I will if that's what it takes to prove to you that I intend to keep my word? I will tell Bella _everything_. I'll tell her that I've never gotten over you, that I'm still in love with you, and I've been seeing you again, trying to rekindle what we've lost. I'll tell her that much as I love her, and I do, Jasper, I just can't be with her anymore because I want and need to be with you because I've never gotten over you and I never will."

He gazes down for a moment, seeming to ponder the words, and I follow his gaze. He's wearing his lucky boots.

He looks up then, shaking his head with a slow, sad smile. "No, don't do that."

"You don't want me to say anything to her, Jasper, or you don't want to be with me again?" The words scrape my soul.

"No, my man, that's not it," he says shaking his head as he begins slowly walking back toward the auditorium and I walk beside him. He licks his lips and continues. "I just don't think that's a conversation you need to have with your wife over the phone. That would be pretty damn cold, baby. I think you need to think long and hard about what you really want, Edward, and if you decide that it's me, it's us you really want, then I think you need to talk to Bella."

I pace beside him wanting so much to reach for his hand, to feel that reassuring warmth, that bond. "I don't need to think about it anymore, Jasper. As I said, that's all I've done lately is think about us. I know what I want and that's you. I love you, Jasper, and I want you, and us, again. Desperately."

He doesn't say anything. He doesn't have to because his eyes tell me all I need to know as they gaze back into mine, a thousand silent words exchanged between us. He wants me, _us_, too.

We make our way back inside the building intending to cut through it to the parking lot where Jasper has parked his bike.

I don't want him to leave. I don't want to be parted from him again so soon.

"Do you want to go grab a coffee and we can talk some more?" I ask and even I can hear the pleading in my voice.

He smiles a lop-sided grin at me and answers with a small velvety laugh, "Oh, I think we've said our piece, darlin'. What else is there left to say?"

Something overtakes me then - a wave of desire, of love, so piercing and hot and needy, that I feel my breath gasp out of me, my heart pounding as I grab his arm, pushing him into an empty classroom.

His eyes are bright and his smile echoes that surprised amusement as he grins again at me, this time sexy and slow. "Edward?"

"Shhh..." I mutter, pushing him backward by rolling my hips against his, my hands sliding around his waist.

He grins at me, shaking his head. "Not a good idea, babe."

"I don't fucking care. Do you remember teaching me to dance, Jasper, how you told me to close my eyes and just feel the music, to let it fill my body and let go? I remember the way you held me, the way we laughed and I stepped on your feet but you just smiled and pulled me against you, and you led."

Jasper smiles at the memory, the smile lighting up his face like dawn breaking. He is a beautiful golden creature thrumming with pure sexual heat. He nods and answers that he remembers and his voice - rich and raspy, erotic, seems to slide under my skin like a full-body caress.

"I remember, darlin'."

"Well, just imagine we're dancing again, Jasper, and today, I'm leading."

I walk him backward until his knees bump up against the desk behind him. His eyes burning in his face, I see emotion warring across those gorgeous features for a moment, then his green gaze locks on mine and he laughs softly and releases a long heavy breath before sprawling long and lazy and sensual across the desk in those damn tight jeans... _Jesus..._

His gaze is heated as he pulls me between his legs with a muttered, "Fuckin' perfect..."

"Well," I can't help teasing back. "not yet, but very soon."

Smiling wider at that, he winks with a low laugh, sliding his booted foot slowly up my leg, his strong, warm hands kneading down my back, and I moan, leaning into him. Suddenly, he's pushing me back some and I look at him in confusion and disappointment before he eases down from the desk and moves to kneel before me, and I moan as I gaze down at him, arrested by his wild beauty, by the wicked, gorgeous gleam in those jade-sunshine eyes that glitter back at me as brightly as that smile that flickers delicious over the ripe curves of his mouth. He turns me to lean against the desk and pulls off my shoes, my socks, then reaches up to my belt with a drawled, "These fucking britches and drawers of yours have got to go... now. I have to see you, taste you..."

I can't help the laughter - borne of love and desire and amusement and pure joy at being with my Jasper again - as it near bubbles out of me. "_'Britches and drawers'_, Jasper?"

He flashes a disarming grin, winking up at me with a shrug of those broad shoulders as he replies, "Hey, no knockin' my Southern or I won't go_ South_ on you, baby."

Miming the zipping of my lips, I wink back at him, then reach down to squeeze his shoulders, glancing over at the small window in the closed classroom door, knowing we could be caught at any time, which, strangely enough, only seems to increase my arousal. "Hurry, Jasper," I whisper urgently, realizing with wry amusement that somehow he has managed to get the upper hand again.

Jasper laughs, sliding my trousers down as he presses a hot, velvety-soft kiss to my thigh, his voice a warm, silken caress against my skin as he murmurs, "Hush now, Sweet, I'm not going anywhere. Be patient...."

Smiling up at me again, I moan as he frees my hard, aching cock to the cool air, and I arch my hips toward him. Growling softly - a low rumbling - I watch my lover as he gazes hungrily at me, licking those lush lips, before stepping back. His gaze is smoldering and hot and we stare at one another for a long moment. Then he leans in toward me, but just as he does, my cell phone vibrates.

Jasper growls and I take his face in my hands. "Ignore it."

He gazes at me again, studying my face, then leans in to kiss me just as the door to the room is flung open. Jasper jerks backward away from me, leaving me sprawled across the desk, bared from the waist down, to face James who stands in the doorway with a shocked look on his face, his cell phone in his hand, and I realize too late that he used it to track me down. I'm too shocked to move for a moment, but then Jasper is shouting.

"What the fuck, you creeper?! Do you mind?!"

James seems too surprised to say anything back to him. He glances between us, his face flushed, as he turns then, bolting from the room.

"Shit!" Jasper mutters and I feel as though my heart will explode from my chest.

"Oh my god..." I jerk up my boxers and trousers with shaking hands. Jasper is turned from me, rubbing the heels of his palms against his eyes.

"Fuck... it's like the universe is conspiring to cock-block us, Edward. I swear to God..."

I'm too panicked to respond because I fear what James will do next. Jasper turns to me then, his gaze boring into mine. I shake my head, swallowing. "I have to go. I have to go talk to Bella now before James gets to her."

"What?" Jasper looks at me, confusion evident on his face.

"James carries a torch for Bella, Jasper. He always has, and I think a part of him has always been resentful of my being married to her, even though he encouraged it because..."

"Yeah, I know," he nods, waving his hand impatiently, "he wanted you to have a beard."

I frown at his word choice but can't deny the validity of it and I nod. "Yes, and I imagine at this point he knows I am not going to be able to deny what I feel for you any longer. James figured out long ago what you meant to me, what you are to me, Jasper. There is nothing to stop him now from going to Bella and telling her what he saw us doing today."

I didn't expect the laugh that bursts from Jasper then and I recoil at it.

"What's so fucking funny? There is nothing funny about this, Jasper."

He shakes his curly head. "It's just ironic, E. Looks like you are gonna be having that little chat with Bella, like it or not. Your hand has been forced, babe."

"I was going to talk with her anyway," I counter and he smiles another crooked, sardonic smile at me.

"Whether you were or not, it's a moot point now."

Hurt by his casual disregard of my panic and my absolutely horrendous situation, I stride past him with as much dignity as I can muster. "I'm glad you're not worried about this, Jasper. How nice to find amusement in..."

My words are cut off by his sudden grabbing of me as he crashes his lips into mine and cups my face in his warm, broad hands, kissing me with a ferocity of passion that steals my words and breath away from me.

When we part from the kiss, he breathes against my mouth, "I have to trust you, Edward. I have to trust that you really were going to talk to Bella on your own, that you're not doing this because of that fucktard catching us _in flagrante_."

"Trust me, Jasper. Please. That's all I ask of you is that you trust me."

He nods then and steps back from me and I can't read the emotion burning in those jade-sparked eyes. I cup his cheek, relishing for a moment the warmth of it, the feel of his stubble against my palm. "Trust me," I murmur again before leaning in to kiss the succulence of those lips once more - softly this time, the kiss gentle and lush and lingering - before I turn to hurry from the room, and Jasper, and out to my car, racing against time and James to get to Bella first.

**~~*~~**


	10. Chapter 10

_**A/N**__: Hi there! First of all, I'm really sorry for the utter update fail. RL has been just crazy lately, and I am woefully behind in my writing, reading and reviewing. I'm trying to get caught up, but with my job being mad-busy of late and the holidays coming up, it's been difficult, and probably won't let up until after the holidays. Again, I'm so sorry, guys! I promise to do better after the holidays and things slow down again. :) _

_As always, I just can't thank you all enough for the wonderfully-kind reviews and private messages. I so appreciate and cherish them! :) I also want to thank you guys, especially Marilyn (On the Turning Away), for nominating "Begin Again" for a couple of the Twilight-verse fiction awards. I am absolutely thrilled and surprised and humbled and really grateful. Thank you! :D_

_Massive *HUGS* and thanks and love to my sweet __**Val, Touchstone67**__, my incredible, wonderful friend and beta, who lights up my world with her talent, her sweetness of spirit and her amazing generosity. Love ya, BB! You are Amazing! And speaking of Val, I'm sure you're all already reading it, but if not, you absolutely have to read her sweet and sexy and stunningly, slurpiliciously good J/E story "Lost and Found" - it's so wonderful! :D Also, *HUGS* and love to Rie, __**Goldenmeadow** for encouraging me and inspiring me with her wonderful words! :). I_f_ you haven't read her gorgeous, angsty and full-on sexy Jasper/Edward story "Incarcerated" - go now; plus, be sure to also check out "Wood" and "Walls" in her Twi-25 challenge fics - more delectable slashy-supreme J/E goodness! :) _

_Okay, so now for Chapter 10 - usual disclaimers: __**Twilight**__ and the characters therein, including the hotties, Jasper and Edward, I'm man-napping for the story, belong to Stephanie Meyer. *sighs* How I WISH they belonged to me! Could I ask for them for Christmas, do you reckon? ;)_

* * *

**~~*~~  
****_BEGIN AGAIN  
_Chapter 10 -****_ The Beach, The Bookstore and the Bastard  
_~~*~~**

**Jasper POV**

**~~*~~**

When something big, something really fucking incredible happens in your life, you know that feeling you get in your gut, that hot and cold thrill that chills and burns down the slick crimson of your veins? It feels for that one moment like time just freezes, and you're almost disconnected because it's all just too damn surreal.

That's how it felt to me today, and now, gazing in the direction that Edward drove off in a few moments ago, I lean back on my bike and take a moment to try to sweep some semblance of order into the disorder ricocheting through my head. A cigarette smolders between my fingers and I realize, with some surprise, my fingers are trembling.

I'm worried about Edward. My nerves are shot to hell because I can't get him off my mind. Then again, he's always in my thoughts and in my dreams. He's a part of me. It's like a possession, but he's the most damn gorgeous incubus to ever solicit a soul, and I welcome him with an open heart, open arms, hell, an open body. I'm his for the taking, and he knows it. Strange thing is, pride be damned, I don't care if he knows it now. I've nursed my pride till it's full to bursting, but I'm willing to toss it aside for him.

Anxiety wars with excitement and hope inside me, a tumult that pounds in my head, but above all, there is this desire to come to terms with everything, to accept the sweet-searing rush of Edward sweeping like a hurricane back into my life. I've missed his thunder, my storm-bringer, who brings back the pain and passion in my soul that makes me feel so fucking alive, so that all I can feel is the primal beat of love pounding within me, and all I can see is his gorgeous face.

**~~*~~**

Four years ago, Edward and I took a little trip down to Florida. It was beautiful - all sugar-white sand and deep sea and us. We heard about a tropical storm blowing in but both of us were loathe to leave, so like the youth-drunk idiots we were, we decided to take on mighty Poseidon himself, defying the old god to throw his worst wet wrath at us; we could take it. Our love would see us through any storm.

And it did... for that night anyway, but not so much for the storms of the soul that brewed between us in later years.

Anyway, I'll never forget that tropical storm, the way the leaden sky wore a veil of silver and white, the lightning lashing and reflected in the deep sea depths of Edward's eyes as we watched the sky darkening, the waves frothing and crashing. Crazy as it sounds, it was fucking erotic, and we gave in to the primal fire of that moment and made love right there behind a dune on the beach. The power and sweet sensuality of our joining was a contrast to the wild raging around us. It was, perhaps, the most powerful moment of my life - the feel of those delicate tingly-thrill bites that sent pleasure throbbing in hot, concentric circles all through me as Edward's throat thrummed in a husky moan of desire, and then he spoke - a murmur of filthy-hot words purred in my ear.

I can still feel the way his hair felt in my hands, the sand and electricity of the charged air around us tasting of fire and desire. I took his mouth in a long, hungry kiss and he groaned as I kissed him deeper, laving my tongue against his lips, worshiping his mouth, that lush orifice - the giver of pleasure and laughter and love - tasting the tangy richness of a Corona laced with lime on the sliding, tangling tongue that played along my own.

In my head, I still see the way he looked that night as he pulled from our heavy kiss and opened emerald-star eyes, those soft, sensuous lips curling into a sated, sinful smile that made me tremble like a colt with love and passion, heat overwhelming me as I slid against him, one hand gliding down to stroke the smooth ivory curve of his ass. He groaned then, softly in need, and my own body curled in familiar possession around the marble pale beauty of my lover, drinking in the sight of him sprawled across the silken sand, skin dappled by the moonlight and racing clouds, and the lightning flares that illuminated us.

"_I love you," _he murmured and I smiled, stroking the smooth skin of his cheek, feeling blood warming it.

_"I know. I love you too." _

Silence reigned then. No more words were needed. All the truths, the beauty of the world, the diamond-bright hope and promise and devotion between us was expressed in our simple, loving exchange, echoed in the embrace of our bodies, the meeting of our mouths, the joining of our souls entwined.

**~~*~~**

And now, to think that our Paradise Lost might be found again; the key to our kingdom - our words, honesty, love still untainted, strength still enduring now forged into gold - and Edward holds that key in his hand, and after all these years, I'm chomping at the bit for him to unlock the door again, to let us inside where we belong - _together_.

Still, even with my blood screaming inside me, I feel rooted for the moment, stuck in this damn university parking lot like I can't move until I process this, which is crazy, right? I mean, I'm much more of an 'act first, think later' kind of guy. I always have been, yet now, I just want to muse on it all for a moment. I just need to get my head on straight... well, in a manner of speaking.

I keep thinking about what Edward has told me and about everything he's finally done. Things are beginning to maybe fall into place for us now, and it's everything I need, and crave, yet, some fucked-up part of me - that damnable self-preservation - is still screaming at me to slow down, to hold up, and think things through first.

My impatience is getting the better of me, though.

I kick-start Mae, letting the drone and heat of the bike settle my still-quivering insides. Every time I start to think through this endless loop in my head about what Edward said, I shy away from it, part of me still fucking terrified that he'll change his mind, decide he can't really do this... _us_... again, and he'll go back to Bella, back to his comfortable, familiar rhythm of life. The prince takes his throne and princess once more, regarding his lovelorn troubadour from under his shining copper crown with sad, regret heavy in those sylvan eyes.

Mine is a life of music and madness, beggars and liars and gypsies and thieves, long dusty roads, smoky clubs and studios, fleeting fame, empty bottles and guitar-scarred fingers. Sometimes I wonder where Edward's cool, soulful elegance fits into the puzzle of my life.

Would you listen to that? God, I can be such a morose fuck. I don't know why I torture myself with dark fears when hope stirs in my breast again. I mean... shit... I should just get my mind wrapped around the fact that he did it. Edward really did it. He finally came clean to himself and to me and to Bella. Watching those words form and fall from those perfect lips, seeing the proud curve of his jaw clench and relax, a flush stealing over those alabaster cheeks, and those eyes - those fucking mesmerizing eyes - as they flashed vivid with subtle, hard-won triumph, it was damn near intoxicating.

Seeing Edward today, I couldn't help but think that his was the noble, beautiful face of a man newly born into the life he was always meant to live. It was the face of a determined blue-blood of the world, who prowls it with a certain sense of entitlement, perhaps, but also purpose, with undaunted fire flaming the depths of his eyes. I'd wondered where that man who lives in the shadows of Edward's psyche had disappeared to, because God knows I've missed him.

See, _that_ gorgeous thing is the Edward Cullen I fell in love with when I first met him in the dusty, cluttered backroom of a little Mom and Pop bookshop five years ago. Whip-smart and sleek, confident, honest, composed... even daring - his words a purring echo of the velvet thunder inside him. I fell in love with _that_ man, and my heart broke when Edward shuttered him away from me.

Five years... sometimes it seems like forever, and sometimes only yesterday, because my memories of that evening are still so vivid, every bit as vivid as our rapturous night on the stormy beach, perhaps more so for the heavy promise of our initial meeting.

**~~*~~**

At the time, my friends Peter and Charlotte were struggling poet-musicians. Trying to make an impression on the coffee-drinking literati youth generation, they'd taken to playing little coffee shop and bookstore gigs. This particular day, though, Peter was home with the flu so I'd stepped in as a pinch hitter, playing guitar softly on a stool beside Charlotte who looked and sang like an angel crossed with the late Eva Cassidy.

We'd finished our set of songs, and Charlotte was talking with a few of the shop clerks while I fiddled with Scarlet. I was dying for a smoke but it was motherfucking Siberia outside and snowing like a bitch, so there was no way my skinny ass was going to be standing out there freezing to death trying to sneak a smoke. Instead, I slipped off to the store's backroom, and, as I sauntered in, brimming with rebel fire, I saw I was not alone. Another guy was already in the room, and my first glimpse of Edward Cullen was actually the sight of his well-formed ass encased in caramel-colored cords as he bent over a box on the floor sorting through a stack of books.

He jerked up when I walked in, his eyes and nostrils flaring, and I was arrested. Just like that. I won't say it was love at first sight, but it sure as hell was lust at first sight. He reminded me in that moment of something wild, something beautiful and regal and of the forest, like a wary falcon but with the proud, quiet grace of a stag. He regarded me for a long moment, our eyes catching, and then he swallowed and smiled and it was such a beautiful fucking smile - crooked and shy and endearing - and I felt my own smile spreading over my face in echo of it.

"Hey! Sorry, man," I laughed. "Thought I could sneak in here for a smoke but I didn't know anyone was back here already."

He smiled at me again with berry-dark lips and laughed all soft and velvety. "Well," he chuckled, "be my guest, but I have no idea where an ashtray might be."

"That's alright," I winked. "Soon as I finish this coffee, this cup will make for a fine little ashtray in a pinch!"

Smiling again, he ran his hands through his hair - and holy fuck, that hair. Never had I seen the like - all shining and coppery and bronze - like untarnished pennies and autumn leaves. I barely heard what he was saying, all my concentration somehow sliding over that crown of shining hair and that face and that long, supple body. He looked like a fucking god pretending to be human sauntering around the earth for kicks. He was talking but I missed half of what he was saying for watching him say it.

"...they're kind enough to let me bumble about back here for research purposes, but..." he said, still with that amazing smile of his.

My attention trailed off his words again. I couldn't help it. I knew I was being rude staring at him but, damn, how could I keep from it? Working my pretense of intense listening, I lit up my cigarette and straddled a chair, crossing my arms over the back of it, just drinking in the sight of him, and listening to that velvety voice purr as he talked.

I took one last swallow of my coffee and tapped the end of my cigarette into the empty cup, smiling at him as I rolled the cigarette between long, guitar-callused fingers, my gaze lingering heavy over the curves of his lips, the gleam of his green eyes - just the color of the cashmere sweater he was wearing, and I indulged myself in a quick, hot little fantasy of never-ending limber limbs and snapping hips, of dark-bronze lashes dusting sweat-sheened, flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen, lush lips; of a sprawled, wanton, fucked-out wicked beauty of a man torn asunder in the sweetest, most sensual dance of flesh.

I heard his quick intake of breath as I slid the cigarette back between my lips, pulling on it hard and sensual, and I wondered if my desire-darkened gaze gave away my x-rated thoughts about this stunning stranger. Never looking away from him, I pulled the cigarette from my lips, blowing out a cloud of pearly smoke, smirking at him through the misty haze as I licked my lips. I knew I was laying it on thick, but hell, you only live once, and by God, this boy was a treasure that I was dying to possess.

I saw his long, pale fingers grip tight around the book he held and he licked his own lips, gazing down. He was thinking so hard even I could see the wheels turning inside that messy, gorgeous head of his, and I swear I could see his pulse drumming in his neck. He looked back up at me then and another smile - a day-breaker grin - slid across his face, and cheeks still a little flushed, he walked toward me, holding out his hand.

"Hello. I'm Edward Cullen. It's nice to meet you."

Grinning, I grasped his hand in a strong grip, long, rough fingers wrapping warm around the cool elegance of his extended hand. "Likewise. Jasper Whitlock."

"You're the musician," he said. "You're very good on the guitar. I was enjoying listening to you play and listening to your friend sing. She has a lovely voice."

"Thanks, Edward," I grinned widely - dimples on full display - even I could feel them forming on my cheeks. Yeah, I was in full-on flirt mode. Wasn't even sure which team he batted for, but it didn't really matter. It's always been my experience that everyone enjoys someone flirting them up, even if they have no intentions of bringing to fruition a mutually-pleasurable outcome of said flirting. "Yeah, Charlotte has the voice of an angel."

He nodded at that and I realized then we were still gripping the others' hand. As I glanced down at our clasped hands, he laughed and gently released my hand... but not my attention. Nope, he had me - caught fast in a tender trap woven of the finest, silkiest threads of curiosity and captivation.

"So, you work here, man?" I asked, gazing around at the stacked shelves.

He laughed at that, shaking his head as he joked that he didn't but he ought to be put on the payroll given the time he spent in the shop.

"Oh yeah?" I grinned, nudging him lightly with my booted foot. "So what do you do then? You go around town poking about in backrooms looking to meet random strangers?"

Edward laughed at that. "Well, no. Not exactly, however, I think our meeting tonight was quite fortuitous. If you have a moment, I could use your help. There is a book I ordered that was supposed to be included in this shipment but I've gone through two of the boxes already and I can't find it. I have two more boxes to sort through and the finding would go a great deal quicker if you have time and wouldn't mind helping me search for it."

"Sure thing!" I answered, favoring him with another bright smile.

Sighing, he laughed wryly, pushing his hand back through his messy bronze locks again as he thanked me and said, almost sheepishly, that he kept getting distracted by the books and it was taking him forever to get through the boxes.

"Oh yeah? Easily distracted, are you?" I smiled around my cigarette.

"Absolutely," he chuckled, flushing. "Completely distracted by, and besotted with, books... and beauty," he murmured with a smile suddenly gone sly and sassy and I felt my cock stir to life at the look in his eyes.

Well, shit... were my own eyes deceiving me, or could this sexy scholar actually be trying to flirt back with me? It was rare that I was at a loss for words, but I was then, so I just let my wide grin speak for me and I inclined my head just slightly.

Taking that for my acquiescence, he turned to push one of the boxes toward me. "Thank you, Jasper. I owe you."

And, at that, my tongue was suddenly loosed again. "You owe me what?"

His back was turned to me but I saw the rosy flush creep up the ivory column of his neck. '_Come on_,' I thought. '_Take the bait_, _Sweet Thing_!'

"My thanks," he answered then, and I frowned a little, taking one last drag on my cigarette before tossing it into the cup.

"My _pleasure_," I drawled and his eyes widened as he turned to gaze at me over his shoulder and I smiled at the unmistakable flare I saw glittering in those jeweled eyes of his.

Rather than dig through the box he had pushed toward me, I wandered over to the box he was sorting though and bent over it to grab the books at the bottom, smiling as I heard the soft intake of his breath as my t-shirt rode up my back some at the gesture. Taking a little longer than strictly necessary to dig around through the books at the bottom, I laughed as I gazed up at him, amused, as I asked him. "What the hell kind of book am I looking for anyway?"

He laughed at that, explaining it was a book on Celtic myths and legends.

"What? Like Leprechauns and the Little People?"

"Yes, exactly, but specifically legends concerning the Tuatha De Danaan," he answered.

"The what?"

Warming to his subject, he smiled again, his eyes looking dreamy as they swept over me and he said, "The Tuatha De Danaan. They're the ancient royalty of the Celtic Fae and the legendary founding fathers of Ireland. Described as tall and graceful with tousled hair that gleams like gold and a smile as warm as summer and teeth white as winter snow, it is said they are descended from angels banished from Paradise. They're beautiful and mercurial and are masters of magic... and music."

Magic. That's what I felt right at that moment. That's exactly what it was - a moment of magic that seemed to hover around us - embracing us - and I swallowed thickly, feeling such a wild fire of desire scorch through me for this brilliant and beautiful man that it took everything in me not to lean over and kiss those lush lips that curled in a coy smile back at me.

Feeling my own cheeks flush, I laughed, joking cavalierly that '_the Toothies' _sounded like my kind of folk, a comment that afforded me another warm burst of Edward Cullen's vibrant laughter as he nodded and said he could definitely see me fitting right in with them.

He reached, then, into the box again at the same moment I did, both of us grabbing the same book, and I felt a hot fever burn through me as our fingers accidentally brushed together. He let go of the book even as I held onto it, holding his gaze, too.

"Why are you interested in the Fae, Edward? Feel a kinship with the _fairies_?" I teased with a wink. Okay, so it wasn't exactly subtle, but neither am I.

He smiled, laughing softly, and answered, "More than you know."

"Hmm.... yeah, me too," I murmured with a teasing grin.

His green gaze felt like a laser burning right into me, right into my soul, and he asked softly, his voice hushed, almost a whisper. "Do you, Jasper?"

I knew what he was asking me and I smiled. "Yeah. I do. It's a music thing, you know?"

Laughing, he nodded. "Oh, I understand. It's a myth and magic thing for me. I'm a writer by profession, so I make my living trying to lure others into a world of my own making."

"Like the Will-o'-the-Wisp my Mamaw warned me about," I smiled.

"Indeed. Perhaps you should take heed lest I lure you away into certain danger."

"Nice! Don't you worry about me. I'll take my chances, my man!" I grinned.

Again, that laughter of his washed over me and he nodded. "I'm not surprised, Jasper. You strike me as a bit of an adventurous type."

"I'm a cowboy from Texas, Edward. It's part of the job description." I couldn't resist teasing him then, echoing his own words. "And I make my living trying to seduce others with a song of my own spinning."

"I imagine you're very adept at that," Edward answered and I glittered another grin back at him in thanks.

I saw the color rush riot over his high smooth cheekbones and he bent back over the box and exclaimed as he pulled a book from the box, "Ah! Here! Yes! Just what I've been looking for - finally!"

"Mmmhmm. Same here," I murmured.

His eyes met mine again and I gambled my heart away right at that moment, praying Lady Luck was with me, and apparently, she was because Edward smiled again at me - this smile softer, sweeter - and he asked me if I wanted to join him for a drink.

I doffed an imaginary hat which made him laugh, and I answered him, "It would be my pleasure. As I said, I'm a cowboy, and as such, I drink hard, play hard, ride hard, and love even harder... _literally._ And hey, I know just the place we could go, too."

My answer seemed to amuse him, for he cocked his head at me, replying with a thrumming purr in that rich voice of his, "Well, if you're finished for the night, lead on, Orpheus."

"Oh, trust me, darlin', I'm definitely not finished for the night. Allow me to prove that to you, yeah?"

"By all means. Please do."

And I did, and the pleasure was all mine. And his. _Ours_. And it was perfection. I managed to wrangle the last ticket to paradise and took off, my man riding shotgun beside me.

**~~*~~**

Where did it all go wrong? I've wondered for the past two years how the hell we fucked it up so badly.

The cigarette burns my fingers and with a curse I drop it, mashing it with the heel of my boot as I look again in the direction of Edward's home. _Home?_ Did his house truly feel like home to Edward... even now, even after his talk with Bella? I wish he'd told her about us when he talked to her, but, hell, maybe he's right, maybe that would have been too much to lay at the poor girl's feet in one night - her husband coming out, realizing her marriage was built on false pretense - and if he'd told her on top of all that, that he and I were wanting to work things out... fuck. Yeah, Edward is right. It would have been too much.

Of course, now he's got to tell her anyway, or else that fucktard James will do it for him.

Bastard. Like he has any right to get up in the middle of all of our personal shit. What's he to do with any of this, any of us? You'd think that he'd be smart enough to realize he's only hurting his own fool self if he goes flapping those gums about me and Edward. He's the douche that wanted Edward closeted in the first damn place, supposedly for the sake of Edward's career, and his by extension. He didn't seem too worried about said career when he took off like lightning after catching us. He looked like a man on a mission, like a prick with a plan. Fucker...

Sighing, I drum my fingers over the handlebars, worry building in my heart and I feel my mind veering again in the dangerous direction, lingering over those words that Edward spoke - that velvety voice hushed with the emotion that I saw cresting in those misty eyes of his - equal parts relief at finally accepting that part of himself that is so intrinsic to who he really is, and sorrow at having hurt me and Bella along the way as he's journeyed to find himself.

It took a lot of damn guts to do what he did. Coming out is never easy - it's nerve-wracking for everyone, even those of us, like me, who are fortunate enough to be gifted with love and support when we do tell the truth about ourselves. I can't even imagine, though, what it would be like to come out to your_ wife_. I mean, shit, talk about your awkward truth-telling. And now he's off to face Bella again, to tell her about us. I just hope he gets there before Agent Asshole.

Restless, I reach for my cell phone. I want to call Edward. I want to tell him I love him again. I want to give him that strength for him to use as a shield against whatever James... hell, maybe even Bella, might throw at him.

I call his number and it goes right to his voice mail. Cursing, I end the call.

I just need to lay it all out. Maybe if I talked to someone else it would help. I mean, I can just keep running this shit backward and forward in my head from now to doomsday, and I'll still not feel settled. Yep. Time to call in the reinforcements.

I quickly punch in a number and wait. The man on the other end of the line answers on the second ring and I can't help but grin to hear that deep, warm voice.

"_Hey, man_, " I say and laugh to hear his warm laugh in reply.

"_Jazz! Dude! What's kickin,' Cowboy?_"

Good ol' Emmett. Dude was big as a bear and solid as a rock - in every sense implied. Strong, steady, sure - always there to lend a hand or an ear and always with a warm smile at the ready. He was the best thing to ever happen to Rosie - calmed her right down, and I truly believe Emmett is the only man in the known universe capable of handling Sister Spitfire. He was the calm to her firestorm.

God knows what the man must have thought being thrown in with both of us whirlwind Whitlocks. I joked with him about it once and he cracked back that he liked riding the tornado, which made unbidden images scorch through my brain that I'd sooner not dwell on about Emmett and Rose.

Emmett was the perfect person to talk to about Edward. He had always liked Edward. Given what Rosalie did to me and Edward, spinning her lies about me to Edward, and why she did it, I really wasn't sure where Emmett stood on the whole issue now, though. That's another reason I wanted to talk to Emmett. I'm pissed as hell about Rosalie shooting off at the mouth the way she did. I mean, okay, I get it. I know she did it out of desire to protect me, but still, I'm a grown man. I sure as hell don't need my sister trying to fight my battles for me, and what she did... it royally fucked things up for me and Edward.

I thought maybe I could talk to Em and let him know how I feel about it, and feel him out to find out where he stands, and where Rose now stands, too. I know she's not going to like it one little bit that I'm talking to Edward again, that we're trying to work things out. That's another reason I need Em in my corner. I need him to try to talk some sense into his wife before she tries to go all Mama Bear crossed with Xena, Warrior Princess again.

I laugh at Emmett's question before replying back. "_What's up? Lots of stuff, in point of fact. Um... so, hey, have you got a moment, man? I just need..._"

Licking my lips, I push my hand back through my hair before continuing. "I_ just need to talk some shit out, you know?_"

"_Yeah, Bro. Spill it." _

There was no need to mince words with Emmett, so I told him. I told him everything. I told him about seeing Edward in the bookstore, about the call, the near reunion hook-up, the fight, the flight, the text, the talk, the soul-baring honesty and sucking off - though I didn't really go into that too much with Em because he started huffing saying he didn't need to know the '_dirty details'_. I told him about me and Edward admitting we still loved each other, and Edward's admittance to himself and Bella about his sexuality, and I told him about James catching E and me nearly getting down on it in the empty classroom, and then about Edward taking off after James trying to beat him to Bella a few moments ago.

And then I waited for Emmett to say something.

"_Em?_"

"_Shit, Jazzy.._."

"_What?_" I asked, my stomach knotting. Fuck. He agreed with Rosie. He was about to tell me what a damn lovesick, masochistic fool I was to go galloping off after my Pied Piper Prince again.

Emmett is full of surprises, though.

"_What. The. Fuck? Jasper, man. How far in the sexing did you and Ed get? Have your brains been literally fucked out? So, you're telling me that you and the damn love of your life are getting your shit back on and Ed is finally balls-out letting his dick swing and manning up, and you're sitting there in a damn parking lot going all emo wondering what the hell you should do?"_

"_Uh..._" My face feels like it's on fire; my ears, too. "_Well, yeah, I guess that about sums it up. Shit, doesn't sound too good, does it?_"

"_Nope. Sounds pretty pathetic to me, man, I gotta say. If you want Ed, and I know you do, then don't just sit there on your ass, go fight for him, Bro! I can't believe you just let him fart off to face Bella and that James jerkwad by himself. You want to be a couple again, right? Well, couples fight off the big bads together, man. Go after him. Help him for chrissake_."

Shit. How stupid could I be? Emmett was right. What the hell was I doing just sitting here like a fuckin' bump on a log, when what I needed to do - all I've ever wanted to do - is love and protect my man, to keep him safe from danger so that he'd never hurt again.

I feel the adrenaline coursing hot and flaming through my blood, bone, sinew and heart, and I nod though he can't see me.

"_I'm going!_"

Emmett laughs. "_That's the spirit, dude! Go get your man! And don't worry about Rosie. I'll talk to her."_

"_Em, thanks. Really. I owe you_."

"_Yep! You owe me a beer and we'll go grab one next week and you can tell me all about how you and Ed are getting cozy again, minus the carnal details_, _you know_."

Laughing, I nod. "_You're on! Listen, I gotta ride. Thanks, my brother. You're golden!_"

Emmett laughs again and answers, "_Peace_" before disconnecting the call. I shove the phone into my jacket pocket and start Mae humming again, and I take off, hauling ass and accidentally near mowing down one Birkenstocks-wearing art student in my mad dash.

**~~*~~**

When I pull up to Edward's house, I see his Volvo already gleaming in the driveway, and beside it, a sleek black Mercedes that I think must belong to James. I look toward the house and I see that fucker James standing there on the porch like he belonged there, cell phone pressed against his ear as he bangs on the door.

Anger scorches through me as I pull up next to the curb and jump off Mae, striding toward the house. James turns at the sound of my approach, a scowl spreading across his face.

"What the fuck do you want?" he yelps, gripping his damn cell phone like he wants to throw it at me or something. Oh yeah, I'm real scared of that - death by iPhone.

"I want you to leave Edward the hell alone is what I want." I can hear the growl in my voice and I know James hears it, too, because his eyes narrow as he glares arrows at me.

"Sorry. Can't do that. Edward is my client. Look, I can see this is going to be very difficult. Edward and I have business matters to discuss. The question is, Mr. Whitlock, what do you need from Edward? What possibly could you want with a _married_ man who left you behind two years ago?"

The evil fucker is smart, and sensing my Achilles heel, he goes slashing for it with that low blow. Growling, I clench my fists, advancing on him. You better believe I'll get up in the face of anyone who tries to hurt or disrespect my man. I ignore his taunt and instead jump on his other retort.

"Business matters to discuss?" I laugh but there is no amusement in it - it's a harsh brittle barking bite of sound. "Like what? Like how you're gonna bail now that you see he's not your damn little puppet anymore? Because I think that's what you're doing here. And you know what, man? Good fucking riddance! He doesn't need you anymore. Edward has more smarts and talent in his little finger than you and all your publishing cronies combined. He's made a name for himself, and he did it with his own gifts. He made his own success."

"Really? Is that what you think? Edward Cullen would still be a two-bit horror novelist had I not come along to guide his career, but what would you know, Hillbilly, about success and smarts? You're not exactly burning up the record charts are you?"

Admittedly, that stops me cold for a minute. How the hell does this shit know anything about me? What the hell?

"Did you fucking Google me or something? You don't know shit about me!" I know I'm taking the bait, but he's pissing me off and I want to get to the bottom of this.

The bastard smirks at me then, arching his eyebrow. "I hired a private investigator. I couldn't have you trying to blackmail and besmirch my best client's career, now could I? I know all about you, Jasper Whitlock, and I know you're a washed-up drunk clinging to your rich ex-lover like a life raft, but I won't let you take Edward down with you."

That's it. I've had just about enough of this braying ass and his lies that I can stand. As I said, I'm more of a man of action than words so rather than respond verbally to his slings and arrows, I slam him against the wall of the house and he grunts, trying to knee me, but I just push him back again.

"Get off me, you rabid redneck!" he sneers. "If you care so much for Edward, you'd back off me because I'm here to try to save Edward's career, not derail it."

"Bullshit! If that's the case, you wouldn't have been hightailing it here to try to beat Edward home. You were on your way to tell Bella what you saw."

"You stupid homo hillbilly! What purpose would that serve me, pray tell?" he asks with a scowl.

'_Homo Hillbilly_'? Bigoted ass. Hell if I know what his twisted, fucked-up purposes are in coming here, but I don't want him to know that. And '_Pray tell_.' Who the hell says '_pray tell'_? Oh yeah, dumbass, patronizing, alliterating fuckwads like him.

"Listen, Walker, you better walk off right now!" I growl, stepping back from him, fists clenched tightly at my sides. Holy Christ, I want to hit him. I want to punch the arrogant smirk off his face. Know-it-all prick who doesn't really know shit.

"I'm not leaving. What have I got to lose, Whitlock? Edward was caught with his pants down - literally, and well, that opens the door to all manner of interesting little issues, doesn't it?" he says, smirking at me again.

Oh, fuck, I want to pound him, but first I want to hear what this slimy snake has to say, to see what sort of web of deceit he's trying to weave.

"I'll give you this, Hillbilly - you're right," he says then. "I didn't want to distort my client's carefully-cultivated image which would have a negative impact on me as well. But, I see how _distracted_, shall we say, and restless Edward is now, and I know you're the reason for it. He's probably a lost cause. He'll go back to you, but if he jumps rainbow-clad from the closet, he'll lose a legion of fans, and his career will go up in flames. I have to try to stop him from doing something so suicidally-stupid to himself and his career, and yet, who am I to try to wield such influence over him? That's where beautiful Bella comes in."

"Bella? You think you can manipulate Edward's wife, too?" I laugh. "Shit, you are as stupid as you look."

He glares at me, narrowing his eyes again before continuing with his braying. "This could be a win-win for all of us, Whitlock. I figure that if Edward insists on carrying on his sordid and secret affair with you, and I have to fight like hell to keep it under wraps, then surely, he wouldn't want to deprive his loving wife and hardworking agent of finding some measure of happiness for ourselves as well, now would he? This way, you and Edward can carry on your... _thing_, and I can comfort the poor, heartbroken wife, and Edward will have his career, and I mine, and you... well, you'll still have your... _music_. And lovely Bella will have a man who can show her what it's like to be loved by a _real_ man."

That's it. The stink of hypocrisy is suffocating me.

"You stupid fuck!" I laugh bitterly. "Do you really believe in this snake oil you're trying to sell, man? First of all, Edward is not willing to live a lie anymore. He's done with hiding himself away. Second, you're wrong about him losing a legion of fans. It's 2009, you ass! Nobody cares what a writer's sexuality is when it comes to reading a book! How the hell does someone's sexuality affect their literary skills? Have you ever heard of Oscar Wilde? Truman Capote? Tennessee Williams? Clive Barker? David Sedaris? Gregory Maguire? Yeah, right, their careers were certainly fucked up by being homosexual," I snark back at him.

His face blanches, then turns a bright, ugly shade of purplish red, like a bruise, as he glares at me, and I see him tensing for a fight, but I just keep on saying my piece.

"Do you really think Edward and I will just have an affair? That he cares so little for Bella as to keep up the sham of their marriage and hurt her by carrying on with me just to supposedly 'save' his career? You don't know shit about Edward if you think that, man. And I may not know Bella, but I know she's got fine taste in men and she seems like a class act, so I would be willing to bet ten dollars to a donut that she wouldn't want anything to do with your scum-sucking ass!"

I'm so caught up in the fire and the fury that James catches me off guard with a left hook to the jaw that sends me stumbling back with a curse. Laughing, he turns to dash off the porch but I leap atop him, sending him toppling down hard to the ground. Straddling his chest I land a hard punch to his arrogant ugly face and finally succeed in wiping that damnable smirk off like I wanted. Pulling my arm back to punch him again, I feel adrenaline pumping hot and fierce in me and he's yelping and bucking, but I refuse to budge until I hear a familiar voice shouting my name, and turning, I see Edward standing in the doorway, his eyes wide and wild, his beautiful face drained of color.

"Jasper! Stop! Stop it, please. What are you doing here?"

'_What am I doing here?_' "What the fuck does it look like, babe?" I answer, blood spittle flecking on Walker's face. "This asshat..." I pound Walker's head against the ground again.

"No! Jay, please... it's okay!"

But Edward is wrong. It's not okay. None of this is okay.

I hear him pounding down the porch steps, and, in the next moment, I feel his hands on my shoulders, squeezing them, thumbs kneading firmly into my muscles as he pulls at me but I don't want to move. I want to hit this bastard below me and punish him. Looking at James, all I see is the pain he has caused for me and Edward, the lies and the distrust, the agony of parting, the years of loneliness. I hate him, and I hate what he did to us, and he deserves to be punished for it.

As if reading my mind, Edward speaks, leaning over me, his voice soothing but strong in my ear. "I know you're angry. I know you blame James, but, Jasper, baby, _I_ did it. I didn't have to listen to him, but I did. This is my fault. Don't make things worse by getting yourself into trouble by punishing James for what I ultimately did to us. Please, love."

"That's right," James answers, pushing me off him. "Listen to Edward, you idiot. Quit blaming me for what your coward of a boyfriend did!"

I growl again. "Don't you say another word about him!"

"Jasper!" Edward is holding me now, his hands around my arms, holding me back. "I made a Faustian deal, and it's something I'll regret for the rest of my life. I intend to make amends, though, and I will get my life back on track, and try to heal the damage and hurt I've caused to you and Bella."

Edward looks at James then and I see a determined glint in his eyes suddenly grown steely as he says, "James, we're through. Our business relationship is terminated. You're fired. I never want to see you again."

I watch as the color leeches from Walker's face as he glares at Edward.

"Edward, don't be so fucking stupid. Do you hear yourself? Are you really going to throw away your career for this.... for _him_?"

"Yes." Edward answers starkly, his voice unwavering and strong - velvet-wrapped steel. "If it comes down to sacrificing my career for Jasper, I'll do it. If I'm willing to end my marriage for the sake of his love, then you should know I am more than willing to end my career for it too."

"Then you're as stupid as your cock-sucking cowboy here," James mutters.

Oh, I hate this bastard. I try to fight free from Edward but he holds me tight, and responds to James in a low voice that I know means he's truly angry.

"Enough, James. I'll not have you talking about Jasper like that. Leave now before I call the police and have you arrested for harassment and trespassing."

He glares at the two of us, then turns on his heel, stumbling to his expensive car bought by his leeching on Edward. He turns then and points at Edward and me with a low, growling threat. "You're going to regret this, Cullen. So help me, we're not through - you and me. Not by a long shot!"

"Fuck off!" I shout and he shoots the bird at me before slamming the door of the car and peeling off with a squealing of tires.

I feel Edward slump behind me then, his arms sliding around my waist as he rests his head on my shoulder. "Jesus, Jasper," he murmurs, and I nod.

"I know. I'm sorry, E. I'm so sorry, baby," I answer, my voice husky and rough.

He shakes his head and I feel his hair against my neck, the heat of my man pressed strong and firm against my back. "No," he whispers, pressing a heated kiss below my ear. "I'm sorry."

I turn in his arms, reaching to cup his face just as the door is flung open again and I turn to see Bella there, her face pale and tear-streaked, her beautiful dark eyes glassy with tears and I feel such guilt then that I feel myself crumple, almost slumping against Edward because of it. I can't meet her eyes and I gaze down at my scuffed boots instead.

"You might as well come in, Jasper. The three of us have a lot to talk about," she says, and I hear in her softly-husky voice the same quiet, unwavering strength and grace that Edward possesses, and I know then, besides her beauty, what it was that attracted Edward to her in the first place.

"Thank you, Bella," I answer, feeling shy and ashamed, and really not fucking wanting to go into that house, but I know I need to do it. Licking my lips, I nod and I feel Edward squeeze my shoulder as he brushes by me and walks into his home behind his wife, turning in the doorway to smile at me, his hand out toward me, and it's all the encouragement I need.

* * *

_**A/N 2**:_ _I'm trying to get all caught up on everything I'm so sadly behind on, so if you review, of course, I'll reply, but I may not be able to give the in-depth replies I'd like to give you, and which you deserve for reviewing the story for me (which I so appreciate), so I thought I'd give you a little holiday surprise instead. For those that review, I'll send you a little sexy bit that didn't quite make it into the story - like an outtake of sorts. :) Warning, it's definitely for mature readers and I'm assuming since this is an M-rated story that you're all at least 18 (or 16 for the European readers) :). _

_**Happy Holidays, Everyone! :D**_


	11. Chapter 11

_**A/N**__: Hello, All! I feel very sheepish posting this because I have been so MIA lately. I'm so sorry, guys! I want to apologize for my horrible lack of updating and reading/reviewing lately. I've recently had to start working between 50 and 60 hours a week :( and, as a consequence, I've not had time to indulge in the fun stuff, like my writing and reading/reviewing, and for that, I sincerely apologize. In addition, I've been pretty crap about my Twitter, too. I haven't done anything with it, and so if you've contacted me there, I'm really sorry for not keeping up with it. Gah, I feel really cruddy about how lax I've been lately. I'm hoping, eventually, my work situation will improve, and at that point, I'll not be guilty of such update and review fail. _

_So many of you have sent me such incredibly kind, supportive and encouraging PMs and reviews, and __**I thank you *so much* **__for that! It really means the world to me! Also, big thanks to those as well who have added me to your alerts and faves - I appreciate it! _

_As always, I couldn't do this without the sweet support and inspiration and friendship of my uber-talented, incredible, wonderful friend and beta, Val, __**Touchstone67**__. Thank you so much, Sweetie, for being so awesome! You're an incredible and beautiful person! *__**Massive HUGS**__* _

_Okay, so now for Chapter 11 - usual disclaimers: __**Twilight**__ and the characters therein, as well as the ones I'm borrowing for my little story, belong to Stephanie Meyer._

* * *

_**BEGIN AGAIN**_

**Chapter 11 -** _**Three-way (Talk) **_

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**Edward POV**

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I've always felt that a writer is a completely different breed of artist than a musician - somehow more reserved, more apart. It has always seemed to me that writers are observers, tourists in the bustling world around them - observing, recording, dreaming, but never quite a part of it, too lost in their own heads, drowning in their own hazy dreams.

Musicians, on the other hand, are active participants in the world. Theirs is the realm of emotion - the music they make serving to paint the pictures the soul sings or to compose that which is written in the heart. They set to music the human condition - passion and power, emotion - crashing like thunder over the listener. Music shatters the soul like glass or soothes it with the sweetest, golden balm of sound salvation. Sometimes I think music is the only true magic left in this world because, like love, it wields power.

I used to envy Jasper that power he possesses, the ability to bring me to tears with a few softly-sung words to the strumming of his guitar or to rib-aching laughter with some silly song improvised on the spot about anything... the contents of our refrigerator or even what I looked like in my underwear.

I remember one evening I found him in the living room, the tv casting soft, colored light and shadow - chiaroscuro - against his beautiful, sharp-planed face, and I joined him on the couch where he sat strumming the guitar, bending down every now and again, to jot notes in his messy scrawl across the page. Lounging beside him on the couch, I kicked my feet up on the coffee table, leaning against his rangy warmth. Soft lips brushed my forehead and the tempo of his music quickened, and then that warm, gravelly voice sang, laughter dancing in his voice: '_There's a hole in his sock but his heart is whole and filled with love for me.'_

Glancing down, I saw there was indeed a hole in my sock, one toe poking out from the cotton disgracefully, and laughing, I nudged him in the ribs for his musical teasing. He grinned a wide grin that made me want to kiss that luminous smile and trace the deep dimples in his cheeks with my fingers; so gorgeous to me - my Jasper, all laughing eyes and smiling radiance and mischievous love, my merrymaking, musical Puck.

The laughter and passion in him runs blood-deep, bone-deep, soul-deep - a well steeped in power and feeling and the lightning force of his primal energy, a humming force that reverberates inside him and echoes out so that the vibrations of his essence seem to knock against me. If Jasper is feeling anxious and antsy, those feelings spin out from him and soon I'm feeling it, too. It's heady. It's intoxicating and, oftentimes, infuriating and exhausting... and I miss it keenly.

Without Jasper I just feel numb. I need my musical, mercurial muse to quicken me, to set fire to my heart. I long for us to enjoy the long, lazy evenings together again, to lay on the couch with him, our legs entangled, drifting in that hazy, half-sleep, the TV a droning purr in my ears, his heart beating steady and strong against my back.

There are so many things I want to know again with Jasper. I want to see him enjoying a post-coital nap lying in a pool of Sunday sunlight, long and nude and sprawled across our sheet-strewn, rumpled bed, the late afternoon sun gleaming against his damp skin.

I miss those times and long for them. I want to feel again the warm huff of Jasper's laughter against the bare skin of my back as he straddles me, using a calligraphy pen to trace some lewd message across my nape or shoulder or lower back - the writing done artistically, almost cryptically. Later, I'll stand in front of the mirror trying to make sense of the scrawl written there backward in the reflection as he leans in the bathroom doorway, a crooked, endearing smile spreading over his face as he watches me trying to discern the words of my homemade, temporary tattoo, knowing with Jasper putting it there, it is bound to be something lusty or inappropriate... though sometimes the words are exquisitely tender.

To this day, the smell of calligraphy ink causes me to stiffen in arousal. I've heard it said that the sense of smell imprints a memory. The smell of Jasper is ingrained in my head - the leather of his boots and jacket and belt, his cigarettes; the faint coppery-metallic smell of guitar strings that lingers on his calloused fingers; the way the heavy mass of his curly hair smells clean and fresh from his shower; the warm, musky smell of his skin and the sweaty, sated sweetness of our combined scents in the bed sheets after sex.

Some nights, even lying in the bed beside Bella, I would catch phantom traces of Jasper's scent - some ghost memory that lingered fragrant and delicious somewhere just outside the bitter bars of my self-imposed prison. My heart would ache those nights, tears welling until I shuddered in silence, my very soul wrenching at the thought of the life together Jasper and I had once shared and I had stupidly and selfishly destroyed. I miss our life together so much.

Ours had been a sensual life - scent, touch, taste, sight, sound entwining us together. The creative muse shared our lives as well and she inspired us both, and we lived for years in that sweet, tangled, sometimes chaotic threesome. Chaotic, in that even though Jasper and I both are creative sorts plying our trade in the artistic sphere, we move about those spheres in quite different ways. I move through life with a little moleskin journal in my coat pocket, pulling it out all during the day to record thoughts, observations, ideas. I watch and I write, a passive observer.

Jasper, on the other hand, actively participates in the world around him - once even getting into a jam session with a street musician in New Orleans. A crowd gathered around them and I stood off to the side, laughing and clapping with the crowd, watching as Jasper worked his music and his charm over the assembled throng, fingers flying over Scarlet's strings to the beat of the other musician's drum, his smile flashing bright as his dancing eyes. That's the power of his music and his charisma. A musician and a magician - he makes magic, and he conjured a love spell that has held me in his thrall since I first met him.

I knew the moment I first laid eyes on Jasper Whitlock that he was magic. One of the Tuatha De Danaan, an otherworldly creature of myth and music. I looked into those crystalline jade eyes and saw the flame that burned in his heart reflected there. Being of a more pragmatic mindset, I've never really believed in the concept of love at first sight, which I always attributed more to a chemical, biological reaction - pure and simple refined lust - but, even so, all I know is that when I looked into Jasper's face that first moment, I found a home in his wild, dancing, gypsy eyes.

For all his purporting to be a loner, the truth is, Jasper is anything but that. He is a firebrand and the spark of life, love and passion sets him burning and he blazes brightest when he is with others. He possesses the raw ability to evoke passions and feelings in those around him, especially me - setting a quickening lightning spark alight inside me. For years, he warmed me with his light and heat, and now, I find myself reaching out again to him, needing his heated radiance to burn away the shadows in my life, needing him to exorcize the ghosts of fear in my heart.

Jasper and I have always needed each other. In the years that we were together, we tried to always be there for each other. I know, eventually in the intervening years, I failed miserably in that regard, but when we were together, we loved and supported one another wholly, or at least we tried to do so.

_I remember waking one late spring morning to the sweet aroma of brewing coffee. Smiling and stretching against the soft sheets, I rolled over to find Jasper already risen from the bed. Padding toward the kitchen, I saw him sitting out on the balcony, smoking a cigarette, a cup of coffee steaming beside him. The morning sun beamed down on him setting his sleep-mussed, golden hair alight like a halo, shining amber on the skin of his bare chest and across his broad shoulders. I opened the door to join him and he turned to me, favoring me with a sweet, drowsy smile as he held his arm out to me and murmured in a morning-husky voice, "Mornin', Sweet Thing." _

_I stepped into his embrace, bending to kiss his sun-warmed, messy hair, as he trailed his fingers languidly against my spine. "Good morning. You're an early bird today, Jay."_

"_Mmm... lots to do today," he answered over a yawn, stretching languidly like a lazy cat. _

"_Oh yeah?"_

"_Yeah, have to go into the studio this morning for a few sessions." _

_Jasper frowned saying it as he knocked the ash off the end of his cigarette and reached to take a swallow of his coffee. _

"_You don't sound overly excited about it," I chuckled softly, taking the seat next to him and reaching for his coffee as he set his cup back down on the table. _

"_Picked up on that, did ya?" He smirked, shaking his head. "Nope. I'm not exactly pleased peachy about it. It's *her* again." _

_I smiled as he rolled his eyes knowing exactly to whom he referred. _

"_The Diva?" I asked._

"_The one and only. Her Royal Highness, Duchess of Divahood. I mean... shit, babe, why in the hell does she always want me to back her up? There are scads of other musicians she could torture instead."_

_I smiled, reaching for his hand, curling my fingers over his. "Yes, but you're the best, Jasper. Not to mention she likes having a gorgeous guitarist in her band."_

_He laughed at that and rolled his eyes again as he lifted the cigarette to his mouth, taking a long drag, then exhaled the cloud of perfumed smoke on a heavy sigh. _

"_I dunno, E. Maybe she just thinks it's funny seeing me try not to react to her pissiness."_

"_Imagine that! Jasper Whitlock curbing that wild and wicked tongue of his!" I laughed, taking another sip of Jasper's coffee. "I think the Diva must really be a witch - in every sense. I mean, witness the awesome power of her rigid control over her backing band, even her strong-minded, sometime session guitarist." _

"_Shut up," Jasper grunted, but he grinned, saying it. "Smart ass. You think you're real cute, don'tcha?"_

"_I am really cute."_

"_And humble, too," Jasper laughed, nudging my bare foot with his own. _

"_Always," I smiled as I stood up, wanting to grab a bite of breakfast before heading out to the publishers office for a meeting. He reached for my hand, holding it and I carded through the messy locks of his hair with my other hand. "Jasper, don't go if you don't want to go. You're such a talented musician, baby. You should be doing your own thing. You shouldn't stand in anyone else's shadow, least of all that woman's. You're really brilliant, Jasper. I wish you'd consider making a go of it on your own, or forming your own band."_

_He nodded, sighing softly as he gazed out across the park across from us. "Thanks, darlin'. Maybe I will do just that... one day." Smiling, he lifted my hand to his mouth and kissed it. _

"_Please, Jasper. I want to see you live your dreams. At least think about really making a go of it. I know you would succeed. You're the whole package, Sweetheart – talented, good-looking, charismatic. There's nothing to hold you back, except yourself."_

_He smiled wryly at that, chuckling softly. "Ain't that the truth."_

_I squeezed Jasper's hand before walking back inside and turned to look at him musing in the morning sun, and I wondered why someone so talented, so confident, so beautiful and with so much to offer was afraid to go forth and really reach for his dreams. _

I realize now that Jasper and I are alike in that we both are dealing with dual demons of fear and uncertainty holding us back, keeping us from achieving full happiness in our careers. On paper, mine is a very successful career, but of course, I've also built my career hiding behind a carefully-constructed facade, a facade I was sure James was going to burn down now... unless I beat him to the punch, and came out on my own.

Jasper, on the other hand, also lives with his fear, something in him holding him back from truly striking out on his own as a solo musician. I've never really understood what that something is, and, as honest and forthcoming as Jasper is, he's never really told me what is fueling his hesitancy in that regard, what it is _exactly _that holds him back.

Maybe today is the day when all the secrets are revealed.

The moment has come to hash it all out, and I need Jasper's resolute fire, his conviction, to help me get through this, to help us _all_ get through this. And now, as I stand on my porch, I'm trying to hide my own anxiety as I hold out my hand for Jasper, seeing a flicker of apprehension darken those green eyes as he glances up at me beneath heavy lashes, a muscle jumping in his jaw.

Smiling, I try to reassure him with my eyes and my smile. I want him to know that, despite all of our misgivings and nerves, despite the uncomfortable awkwardness of the strange situation we find ourselves in, this talk between us and Bella is a much-needed thing.

I know we all seek something different from this tentative accord - closure, acceptance, trust. All of us need to be able to forge at least a tenuous peace of sorts between us, if not exactly a bond. We need it in order for us to move on. I need to bare my soul, to take responsibility for the hurt and confusion I've caused for these two beautiful people whom I love above all others. I need to prove myself, and above all, I need Jasper. I will do whatever I need to do to be worthy of his love again, and I need to make amends with him and with Bella.

Jasper bites the ripe fullness of his bottom lip, his gaze cast down, lush lashes again shading his eyes and skimming the high, smooth arch of his cheekbones, and I know, like me, he is musing on the potentiality of this talk and what it means, and what could unfold over the next few minutes.

"Jasper," I murmur and he looks up at me again, his gaze dark and worried, but a small flicker of hope is beginning to spark there. He nods with a hesitant smile, clearing his throat as he sighs and follows me inside my home.

I can hear Bella in the kitchen as I lead Jasper into the living room, watching as his eyes dart - wary and curious - around him, and I follow his gaze as it flickers over the framed photos atop the piano, then over the bookshelves, to the coffee table stacked with folklore books Bella is researching, and then over to my chair, golden under the soft amber light of the tall lamp beside it, my laptop balanced on the arm of the chair, a half-empty glass of wine on the table beside it.

He swallows hard, and I watch his Adam's apple move in his throat and I squeeze his hand again. A glass shatters in the kitchen and I hear Bella's muffled curse as Jasper's eyes widen, and for a moment, I'm not seeing my lover standing there with his tawny curls and faded jeans and dusty boots, the flannel of his shirt well-worn to an almost velvety softness now. Instead, I see a nervous mustang, proud and wild and wary, muscles tensed and quivering.

I move my hand up his sinewy arm and call out to the kitchen, "Bella? Are you alright?"

She doesn't answer but appears in the living room a moment later, her face still tear-blotchy, as she carries a tray topped with a bottle of Glenlivet and three glasses. "I'm fine, Edward," she answers, her voice husky and shaded. "I just dropped a glass in the kitchen."

Worried, I gaze at her face and her hands. "Did you cut yourself?"

She shakes her dark head, her eyes catching mine for a moment, something sharp as the glass glittering there as she shakes her head and answers, her voice tight. "I told you. I'm fine."

Setting the tray down on the coffee table, she nods at the bottle. "Whisky," she says. "I thought we could all use a drink."

Jasper's mouth curls into a hesitant smile, and he nods slightly at her, his face flushed. "Thank you, Bella. That's very kind of you... for the drink, and..." he pauses, licking his lips, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, flushing even deeper now, crimson stealing over his cheekbones, the very picture of awkward nervousness. "...thank you for allowing me into your home."

"You're welcome, Jasper," Bella responds, her voice still a little tight. She gazes at his face, seeming to study him, and I wonder what she sees when she looks at him. Does she see the man I love or does she seen an interloper - someone to blame and despise?

I find myself wanting to protect him from the ice in her atypically cold, analytical stare. As if sensing my thoughts, she counteracts my wariness by asking Jasper, "Do you need ice for your jaw? It looks like it's swelling some."

Jasper blinks and I wonder if he is startled by Bella's question in light of our strange situation.

"No, thank you, Bella. It's fine, " Jasper answers her, as he rubs his jaw gingerly and flashes a crooked, sheepish grin. "Bastard just got a lucky punch in is all. Oh..." Flushing more, he grimaces. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't curse in front of a lady."

Bella scoffs softly, shaking her dark head. "I'm not offended, and besides, I use colorful language myself from time to time. You'll probably hear evidence of that today."

I feel my back stiffen in anxiety at her words, my eyes widening, and I wonder if I present a comical sight because I see Jasper turn to hide his smile.

Quickly, I speak up, taking the glasses from the tray. "A drink would be perfect. Thanks, Lov-"

I stop, the familiar endearment freezing to ice on my tongue as I stand awkwardly between them, glancing at Jasper, seeing his face avert again, paling, and I look then at Bella whose face is dark now - whether with sad acceptance or anger, I can't tell, and I think to myself that she is righteous in feeling either one.

Bella sighs softly, perching on the edge of the couch, running her hand through her hair as Jasper moves toward the fireplace, seemingly seeking the light and warmth that flickers there, his gaze caught in the yellow-orange flames. I watch the glow reflect on his face, and I ache to reach out to cup that fire-warmed cheek, to feel the rough stubble of his jaw against my palm, to gaze into those fire-bright worried eyes and reassure him.

Even so, though, I also feel the need to support Bella; Bella, who has been so remarkably understanding, so much more so than I deserve for how I've hurt her and Jasper. Simple honesty is required of me now. I owe them the truth and I need to hear their truth, to hear what they have to say, to truly listen - not just with my ears, but with my whole heart.

Leaning over, I pour three glasses of the whisky, handing them each a glass, and my voice is low, almost stuttering. "I know... this... this is awkward for all of us, but it is so necessary. There are things I want to say to... to both of you because I love and respect you both so much."

Bella makes another soft scoffing sound and I gaze at her sadly as she swirls the amber drink in her glass.

Jasper turns from the fire and folds his long limbs, sitting awkwardly on the edge of the bricks around the fireplace, gazing down into his own glass of whisky before taking a swallow of it, his gaze sliding over to me then, a half-smile ghosting over those ripe lips, something calming in that grass-green gaze. I think it amazingly fitting that he should pick the fireplace to rest his limbs - my fiery angel - all heat and heart and fire, and now, as the cold of anxiety and fear clutches at my heart, all I want to do is sit beside him, to bask in that warmth, but I know with Bella sitting here with us, I can't do that. Not now. I can't blatantly throw in her face the distinction between my all-encompassing _fiery_ love for Jasper and my tender regard for her.

The words building - hot and heavy and uncomfortable in my heart, struggling to push past my lungs and nerves-thickened tongue - I take a swallow of liquid courage and finally say what I should have said long ago to Jasper and Bella.

"I'm sorry. I am truly sorry for ever hurting either of you. I know my own cowardice and insecurities and fears led me do the most reprehensible things, and I hurt you, and I'll go to my grave regretting that. I know I can't undo all the pain I've caused you, or..."

I pause, my gaze flickering to Jasper again, as I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper, "Or replace the years we've lost, but I want you to know how very sorry I am to have hurt you."

Jasper meets my gaze steadily, then leans back on his hands against the bricks, blinking rapidly, his eyes glossy as he gazes up at the ceiling.

Licking my lips, I sigh, "I... I was so.... so stupid and cowardly in my actions, and I don't want either of you to blame yourselves or each other for what _I've_ done. The fault, all of the pain and tension between us, is mine. I've been a fucking frightened idiot, and..."

"I don't blame Jasper, Edward," Bella interrupts then, her gaze darting over to Jasper before leveling - brown and steady and strong - on me. "Though I admit I was jealous of him when I found the photos of the two of you."

Jasper's eyes widen at her words and he gazes at her, his voice whisky-raw but soft, "Oh god, Bella, I'm sorry. When I moved out of the apartment, I thought I took everything with me, all the photos... the memories, everything. I didn't want to leave any reminders, and I really thought I took it all."

_Oh, Jasper. You took reminders, my darling, but the memories still lingered, ghosts that haunted me, the sweetest phantoms to ever torture a soul. The rain that poured in my heart couldn't wash away my love for you. We were so young, so filled with passion and pain, just kids in the eye of the storm._

I reach out to lay my hand on his shoulder as I hear the heavy pain in his words, the stark sorrow of that wretched parting burning in his eyes, and I feel like the guilt will rend my soul in two.

Bella sets her glass down on the table and rubs her temples, gazing down at her reflection in the polished mahogany surface and I see her flinch a bit at the haunted but still beautiful visage that looks back at her.

I crouch down beside the table, reaching for one of her hands. "I'm truly sorry, Bella."

And I am. Oh god, I am so sorry. I'm not sorry that I have the photos, for they are precious to me, but I am sorry that seeing them brought her such pain. I'm sorry to have caused her that pain. I look up at Jasper and explain, "I had photos of us in my manuscript boxes. Bella found them."

"Yes," Bella says, her voice low. "And I saw how happy Edward was when he was with you, Jasper. I've never seen the smile on his face that I saw in those photos. It was the look of a man completely in love, and I knew my husband had never looked at _me_ like that. Edward has never smiled at me like that, and a part of me resented you, Jasper. A part of me despised you, yet another part of me was curious about the sort of man you must be to hold Edward in your thrall. I remember seeing you at one of Edward's book-signings and I recognized you from the photos and, you probably don't remember this, but I spoke briefly to you. I wanted to know what sort of magic you possessed that captivated Edward."

Jasper laughs softly at that, gazing down at his scuffed boots. "Magic? Me? I imagine you were disappointed then, darlin'," he murmurs quietly, honey-husky voice mellow with self-deprecation.

"On the contrary," Bella answers, and I gaze at her, surprised at her generosity of spirit, but then her mouth turns up in a sardonic smile as she mutters, "but I still resented the hell out of you anyway."

"I'm sorry, Bella," Jasper whispers and I shake my head, moving to sit beside Jasper, laying my arm across his shoulder, my fingers touching the curls at his nape.

"No," I shake my head again, "Like I said, neither of you have anything to apologize for, because we all know I brought this down on our heads. Jasper, I should have been the man you deserved. You gave me the fullness of your love and you gave me your trust, you put your heart

into my safe-keeping and I dashed it, driving a wedge between us made of dishonesty and cowardice and fear. I drove us apart and I left you, leaving you to pick up the pieces of what had been our relationship. I understand why you left because I left you first. I ran away, Jasper, and I have regretted it every single day since. I took off on that damn plane, but I left my heart and happiness behind with you."

Jasper reaches up then, laying his warm, rough hand on mine, his eyes glimmering in the firelight. "I never stopped loving you, Jasper. I never have. I never will, and I've always felt the truth of that in my heart, even as my head tried to deny it, ...and that's when I hurt you, Bella."

Bella watches me, her gaze sliding over my face, down to my hand that rests on Jasper's shoulder and I feel a flush of blushing heat and shame wash over me, because she is my wife, yet... Jasper is my love, and the practical side of me tells me that I should be beside Bella now, our rings a bond binding us, yet the true nature of myself - Inner Edward - is tired of acting, of being what is expected of me. I'm tired of denying myself, denying my feelings, denying my love and denying that part of me that _needs_ to be here with Jasper, touching him, loving him, knowing I only feel whole when I am with him.

These thoughts heavy in my head, I take a swallow of the whisky before continuing, "Bella, I ... I tried to deny what was clanging like a bell in my heart. You came along and you were sweet and beautiful and gentle. You made me laugh and when I was with you, those bells in my heart were muffled, and I felt like I could breathe again. I knew my heart was taken, that I was still in love with Jasper, but I thought he was gone, out of my life forever, so I convinced myself into thinking that I could be in another relationship without my true heart which Jasper still possessed. I was ignorant to believe that I could deny that love, that I could deny the truth of my own sexuality, that I could re-invent myself anew and be to you the husband you deserved... but I couldn't, despite how hard I tried. How could I be a husband to you when I felt barely half a man on the inside? And you deserved to be truly and fully loved, Bella."

"Then why did you marry me? Why did you _stay_ married to me, Edward?" Bella asks, her face taut with pain, and I feel Jasper nudge me with his boot, encouraging me to go to her - as always so chivalrous, a southern gentleman and a _gentle_ man, a knight in dusty armor, and the empathy I see in his eyes as he looks over at Bella shames me.

I move to sit beside Bella on the couch, reaching for her hand and I feel it tremble in mine, and my heart breaks for her and I fear she will pull her hand away, but instead she just looks at me, and I answer her honestly, "I was selfish and stupid, Bella. I love you, not in the way you need me to love you, I know, but I do love you, and I thought what Jasper and I had was over, that I had shattered it beyond repair. I thought I could start over again with you, that I could make it work somehow."

"This is not fucking Project Runway," Bella says then, her eyes glinting with fire. "You can't just '_make it work_', Edward. You knew you were still in love with Jasper. You knew you were gay, but you denied it to yourself and you denied it to me. You should have been, pardon the pun, straight with me and you should have told me outright how you felt. And, actually, you and I should _never_ have been. You should have looked up Jasper years ago and made things right with him. All this time, you had both Jasper and me thinking we had made a mistake, blaming ourselves for your wishy-washy, cowardly indecision, when our only mistake was in loving you!"

I hear Jasper make a soft sound in his throat and Bella jerks her hand away from me then and gets up from the couch. I know I deserve her ire - every last bitter bit of it - but even so, it rips at my heart and I hear a small gasping sound escape from me, tears blurring my eyes as I nod, barely croaking out, "Yes, you're right, and all I can do is apologize and beg for your forgiveness."

I bend forward, covering my burning eyes, my elbow heavy on my thigh, and I feel the couch dip behind me, long, warm arms sliding around me - Jasper - and I know I don't deserve his comfort but I am so grateful for it.

"You're right, Bella," Jasper quietly intones, his breath warm and whisky-scented - against my ear and the side of my face. "Edward made some tall mistakes, and he knows he did. He's admitted as much tonight. And, believe me, I made some pretty fucking heinous mistakes, too, but loving Edward was never one of them. For all the hurt I went through, still, it was worth it to love him and to have his love."

I squeeze his thigh gratefully, his words moving me deeply, the touch of them like a caress against my soul, soothing me.

"Well, of course you feel that way, Jasper," Bella sighs, her hands clenched at her side, "because that's just it - Edward loves you, truly loves and is _in love _with you. It's worth it to you because he loves you above everyone else."

She stares at us and then says, her voice rising in frustration, "Look, I think I've been really fucking understanding here, but I'm only human, and look at you two, cuddled up on the couch in front of me. Do you mind?! Please, just..."

Her voice chokes off then and I stand, going to her, holding her but she pushes back from me with a fierce, "No!"

Unsure, I reach for her again, "Please, Bella..."

"No, Edward. Just leave me alone for a minute!"

Nodding, I step back, gazing at Jasper who swallows and rises from the couch. "Hey, this wasn't really a good idea. I'm gonna go. Edward, Bella, I'm..."

"No, Jasper," Bella turns to him, grabbing his arm, her voice raw with emotion. "Look... forgive me, I'm just... this is killing me, but you should stay. I'm sorry. We need this. We need to talk. I just feel a little... raw right now."

Jasper's gaze darts to mine, then back to Bella as he nods, his voice husky as he answers, "I understand, and I can't tell you how sorry I am to have helped cause this pain to you and Edward."

"No," I shake my head. "Jasper, you haven't done anything wrong."

"Yes, Edward, I have. I did."

Sighing, he scratches at the stubble on his jaw, then pushes his hand back through his messy curls and sits down heavily on the couch, looking up at Bella as he talks. "You see, I wanted Edward to be open about our relationship. I had no patience whatsoever for his pussy-footin' around."

He glances up at me then with a wry smile. "Forgive me, darlin', but it's true. I hate that you're livin' in a damn closet and, when we were together, you expected me to live in it with you. I can't do that. I'm a Texas boy. I like wide-open spaces and those wild blue skies. I don't want to hide anything under heaven."

He smiles then - that sunlit smile that glows like a beacon and I can't help but smile myself at the sight of it, and I'm surprised to see even Bella smile a little, too, but then again, that's my Jasper working his golden magic and charm.

"I like honesty and freedom," he continues, "and while I felt completely free to be honest about my love for Edward and about our relationship because I was proud of it and proud of him, I couldn't wrap my mind around what his big damn hang-up was about admitting we were together. I mean, the thing is, Bella, I just couldn't wait for him to come to terms with his feelings and with his sexuality. Coming out is difficult no matter what though, and it's not something you do on a whim. Takes a lot of soul searching, and some folks never get up the gumption to do it, and my heart goes out to 'em because that's an awfully lonely way to live - living a lie like that."

He pauses then, shaking his head with a soft sight before continuing. "I didn't want Edward to live with that weight on his heart, because as long as it was there, it was - to my way of thinking - crowding out some of the love in his heart for me and bruising our relationship, so I pushed him, and we fought over it, and tension built up between us and, eventually, it ruined what we had."

Bella perches on the edge of the coffee table and picks up her glass, tracing a finger around the rim of it as she sighs, nodding. "Jasper, in your shoes, I would have done the same. The truth of the matter is I made mistakes, too." She glances up at me then, her face rueful before continuing.

"You know how they say you blame others for what you don't like about yourself? Well, that's what I have been doing with Edward. The way he was with you - trying to live in denial of what he knew was true in his heart, well, that's what I've been doing in our marriage. I knew as soon as I saw those pictures..." she turns to gaze at me heavily.

"I knew you were in love with that blond guy in the photos, Edward," she murmurs. "I knew you were gay, but I denied it to myself because, like I told you when we talked before, I wanted you to be the Prince Charming I needed. I needed you to be the loving husband I fantasized about. I don't know who I'm more disappointed in - me or you, Edward. Frankly, probably me because you're just trying to live honestly now, to be the gay man you are who fell in love with another man years ago and has never gotten over that love, but me, I've chosen to live in denial for years, thinking marriage counseling would solve our issues."

Their words pound against me with the dread iron-knell of guilt and I shake my head. "No, god, no! Both of you, please, what is this?! What are you doing? I won't have you blaming yourselves for my mistakes."

Sitting beside Jasper on the couch, I grasp his shoulders, my voice emphatic. "Jasper, you were _completely_ within your rights as my lover to try to push me into being honest about our relationship. You deserved to be with a man who openly loved you with his full heart. You can't blame yourself for my fear and denial. I'm the one who drove that wedge between us, not you."

"And Bella?"

Letting go of Jasper, I turn to face her, reaching for her hand. "I was wrong to marry you when I couldn't be a proper husband to you, when I couldn't give you what you needed. You shouldn't blame yourself for trying to make our marriage work."

"To no avail," she whispers then, tears in her eyes, and I pull her to me, holding her.

"I know, and I'm so sorry for that, Bella."

I can feel Jasper's eyes on us, and I pull back, kissing Bella's forehead before gazing at Jasper, reaching for his hand, my fingers weaving with his. I laugh softly then, "What a strange, sad tableau the three of us make."

Jasper laughs softly at that, then clears his throat, his voice heavy with remorse as he says, "Bella, I do owe you an apology, though. What Edward and I share is the most beautiful, fucking amazing thing I've ever known, and yeah, I love him with everything in me, and I always will, but even so, he's _your_ husband, and I should have respected that and stayed away. I tried, God knows I tried, but I didn't do a bang-up job of it, and I'm sorry."

Panic flares in my heart and I'm sure it's evident in my eyes, too, but I realize Jasper is giving me the opportunity to come fully clean with Bella. "Bella, no, again, it's not Jasper's fault. I ran into him in a bookstore and..." chewing my lip, I flush, continuing.

"...and all of those long-suppressed feelings started burning inside me again. I knew I was still so in love with him, and I wanted to be with him again, I _wanted _him in every way. We talked that night on the phone, and we met the next day, and..."

"You had sex," Bella says starkly.

"No, we didn't."

"So, you haven't had sex since seeing each other again?" she asks, her gaze darting from me to Jasper.

Jasper coughs, taking another long swallow of his drink before he answers in a low voice, "Forgive me, but not to sound flippant, Sweetheart, but I suppose that depends on your definition of 'sex'."

Eyes wide, I panic a little and have to fight from nudging Jasper hard in the ribs with my elbow, as I sputter, "We haven't made love. No."

"But oral sex was involved?" she asks and as I balk, alternately flushing and paling under her piercing stare, I nearly die when Jasper breaks the tension of the moment.

"Yes, some. You should know the truth, and I'm... I'm really sorry, Bella."

"You should be!" She says then, her glare leveled on Jasper now. "You know he's gay. You know he's still in love with you, so you knew what it would do to him if you sucked him off! That's sexual manipulation, Jasper!"

"No, Bella, it was _me_." I quickly respond, tears of shame and frustration springing anew to my eyes.

"It wasn't Jasper," I mutter, shaking my head. "Jasper was reluctant to do anything because I was married, but I just, god, I just, being with him again, I... I couldn't hold back, and I'm sorry... I didn't want to hold back."

Bella gazes at me and tosses the rest of her whisky into the fire, making it blaze as the smell of alcohol and cinders perfumes the room. I wither under the weight of her stare and I can literally feel my shoulders rounding, wanting to just crumple in on myself, and I think to myself that I almost wish she'd just hit me and get it over with, rather than this slow, angry simmer that I admittedly deserve.

Instead, she just says in a quiet, firm voice, "I get it, Edward, but I'm still pissed. I mean, damn it, you're married to me. Fucked-up lie of a marriage that it is, you're still married to me. You lied to me. You cheated on me."

"You could argue that I've cheated on Jasper in marrying you, Bella, because my heart has always been his," I answer, lashing out, feeling cornered like a wounded animal, and I see her eyes flare for a moment, then she shakes her head.

"But you weren't married to Jasper," she answers.

"Perhaps not in the eyes of the law or religion, but we were as in love and devoted to one another as any married couple, Bella."

"But you destroyed it," she responds.

I nod glumly at that. Leave it to Bella to point out the excruciatingly obvious.

"No," Jasper says, as if sensing my shame, and I feel his hand - warm and heavy and reassuring - against my back "Edward and I shattered it, but we're beginning to pick up the pieces and glue it back together now."

For a long moment the silence is broken only by the pouring of whisky as Jasper refills his glass, then he sits back against the couch again, and crosses his foot over his knee, leg jumping and fingers twitching and I know he is probably aching for a smoke now. I also know he is trying to feign a sense of ease, leaning back against the couch, but I can feel the tension tightening his hand and his thigh and his arm as they rest against me.

He gazes at the stack of books on the table before him, mouthing the title of one of them. "Bella, are you interested in Native American folklore because I have some Quilute friends you should meet. I bet they'd have all kinds of interesting folklore to share with you."

"Bella is getting a PhD in Folklore," I say, pleased that Jasper is trying valiantly to break the thick tension in the room, but my voice is still soft with hesitancy. "Her thesis is on recurring shape-shifting themes in Native American folklore."

"Oh yeah?" Jasper grins. "You should definitely meet my friends then."

Bella plays with the dream-catcher necklace she wears and her mouth curls in a fleeting but sweet smile. "I don't know. Thank you, but sometimes the native peoples don't like to discuss their legends."

"Yeah, I imagine that's true, but believe me, Jacob is a friendly guy. He'd probably love to tell you about 'em. Probably couldn't get him to shut up if you tried once you get him started," Jasper laughed. "His dad Billy is a good, wise man. He'd be a good one for you to talk to, Bella. If you'd like to talk with them, I'll give them a call and ask if it would be alright for me to take you out there to meet them."

I'm not sure how I feel about Jasper and Bella doing anything together - just the two of them. I'm afraid it would turn into a '_How much of an ass can Edward be?_' conversation. I can feel Jasper shaking with silent laughter and I know he suspects my concerns, but he reaches down to squeeze my hand reassuringly.

"Alright," Bella answers. "Thank you, Jasper. I may take you up on your offer some time."

"Anytime," Jasper grins and I frown, but he slides his hand under my shirt where Bella can't see and rubs the pads of his callused fingers against my skin in warm, smooth, soothing circles.

"So, okay, while I can appreciate you trying to dispel the tension between the three of us... are we just going to... what? Forget about it? Start over? Move on? What do we do now?" Bella asks, returning to our previous tense conversation and I hear weariness in her soft voice as she murmurs, "I would imagine you two want to pick up where you left off. Edward, I assume you want a divorce, right?"

The stark words near freeze the blood in my veins and I gaze at her sadly. '_Yes,_' I think. '_I want a divorce because much as I do love you, Bella, I love Jasper more, and I need to be with him.' _

"Because," she says then before I can answer her, "I want a divorce, Edward. I think it's insane for us to stay married, especially since you're in love with Jasper, and it's not a real marriage anyway."

"Bella," I can feel the ache behind my eyes that echoes the ache - the pain of parting - in my heart, and I can hear the huskiness in my voice as I answer her. "Please know you are the most incredible, wonderful, beautiful woman I've ever known, and any man... any heterosexual man," I add with a wry smile before continuing, "would be lucky to have you in his life, and, especially, to have you as his wife. I don't deserve either of you, so I feel a doubly-blessed man to have had your love regardless. I do love you, Bella, so very much and I always will, and I always want the best for you."

I pause then and reach for her hand, gazing into her soft brown eyes. "Bella, I want you to know that this house and the car - or both cars if you wish - are yours, and I'll make sure you always have the money and the resources to live the life you deserve and the opportunity to achieve your dreams. You will never have to go back to the life you once led. I swear that to you."

"Don't try to buy me off, Edward," she whispers then and I gaze at her sorrowfully as I see tears glimmer and slide from her eyes. Leaning forward, I pull her into my lap, holding her tightly as my own tears sting and spill down my cheeks.

"I'm not trying to buy you off, B. I love you, not in the way you need me to love you, but I do love you, and I want to do this. Please let me do this."

Bella doesn't say anything, but I feel her arms wrap around me and I sigh as we hold each other.

Jasper sits quietly beside us for a long moment, then he strokes my back before he rises from the couch.

Bella feels him rise and looks up from my tear-dampened shirt, taking his arm. "Take Edward with you, Jasper. I need tonight to just be by myself. I just need some time alone."

Jasper's eyes round with surprise and I blink back at him before gazing again at Bella, tipping her head up to look in her eyes. "Bella, no. I don't think I should leave you alone tonight. I'm worried about you. I feel like I should stay here with you tonight."

"No, Edward." She shakes her head with defiant determination. "No. I need to be alone tonight. Please just give me tonight to get my head and my heart sorted out. I need this."

I hear the fervent pleading in her voice and though it pains me to leave her like this, I nod. "I'll go if you really want me to go, but I'm worried about you, B."

She lays her finger against my lips and stands up, brushing the tears from her face delicately with her fingers. "Edward, go. I'll be fine. I'll talk with you tomorrow and we can work out some things."

"Bella," Jasper says then, his voice respectful and gentle, the southern slide over the words soft and sweet. "I understand now why Edward married you. He's right about you. You're a damn fine woman - as brave as you are beautiful. But I know a thing about bravery and pride, especially wounded pride, and I know how it can nearly destroy you. Don't try to be stoic, Sweetheart. I agree with Edward. I don't know that you need to be alone tonight. And honestly... I need some time to myself, too."

Swallowing, I nod, gazing down at my hand as I pull at a loose thread at the hem of my shirt and I shrug, saying, "Look, I'll just get a room for the night."

Bella gazes at me for a long moment, then nods as she picks up the tray and carries it back into the kitchen. I turn to Jasper then as he gazes back at me, some indefinable emotion haunting his gaze.

"Will you be alright, baby? I just need some time," he says, reaching for my hand, enclosing it, his thumb caressing over the top of it. "I love you, and I want to be with you, Edward, but... just give me some time, okay?"

"That's fine, Jasper, whatever you need."

He shakes his curly head, his eyes wide and sad as a saint's. "Don't be that way, my man. You asked me to trust you, and I'm trusting you, E, but you have to trust me, too. If we're gonna do this again, I want it to be right this time. I don't want to rush into anything, not until we're both ready for it, yeah?"

"Yeah," I nod and he squeezes my hand, leaning in then to brush his lips with mine. It's a soft, brief kiss, but his lips are full and warm and they caress with familiar intimacy against my own.

He pulls back after a moment, sliding his hand up to curl around the nape of my neck as he leans his forehead against mine, whispering, "Call me from the room later, darlin'."

My arms slide around his waist, my hand gliding over his hips and the taut curve of his denim-clad backside and I hold that steady gaze with my own, nodding. "I will."

He winks at me then, reaching back to slap his hands against mine, before he gracefully extricates himself. "Alright. I'll tall to you later then."

"I'll call you as soon as I get settled in for the night and... Jasper?"

He walks toward the door, but stops as I call out for him and he turns, and for a moment, I feel myself weakening, wanting to plead with him to let me go with him, but instead I swallow back the words and smile, mouthing, '_I love you_.'

He smiles back at me, nodding as he winks again, mouthing back: '_Love you, too._'

Jasper holds his cell phone up and I nod. "I'll call you."

He turns to leave, closing the door softly behind him and I sit down heavily on the foot of the stairs in the entryway, watching through the glass as his lanky form retreats. Then, striding over and mounting his steel horse, my cowboy rides away.

Bella joins me a moment later, gazing at me and a world of heavy silence swirls between us. She brushes past me to go upstairs, and as she does, I feel her hand brush against my hair lightly.

~~*~~

Sometimes I think hotel rooms are the loneliest places on earth. I've spent a great deal of time in hotel rooms, and no matter how stark or luxurious they may be, they seem to possess that echo of all the people who have made love in the starched beds, or fought between the sound-padded walls, or worked on business presentations at the small tables or jerked off in upholstered chairs to expensive pornography on the TV. Hotel rooms are way stations - and they resound with the temporary, hollow emptiness of the lives that have passed through them.

I hate hotels, and I hate even more staying in them... _alone_. I glance at the wide bed where I've folded down the comforter, my gaze sliding over the pristine whiteness of the sheets, and I think to myself that I wouldn't hate this room if Jasper were with me. Just hearing him on the phone when I called him an hour ago, his voice husky, soft, made me ache for him. Unlike the strangers I imagine staying in this room previously, I don't need pornography to jerk off in this chair, I only need to hear Jasper, to hear his voice, and to hear his fingers sliding softly over Scarlet's strings as he talked with me. I won't say it's completely satisfying because that only happens when Jasper is an active participant with me, but, regardless, taking care of things on my own is infinitely better than loneliness further compounded with sexual frustration.

Glancing over at the bed, my mind wanders wanton again, visions flooding my mind with heated intensity and I reach down to unzip my jeans, lowering them to stroke myself, and I see in my head an erotic image of my hands sliding up warm, strong thighs, spreading Jasper back and open below me – a gorgeous sight – all hard muscle and sleek, sweat-shining skin as my full, needy erection throbs between us, rolling across its hot, hardened, satin-skinned mate causing Jasper to groan. He arches strong and supple below me, his summer wheaten hair curling in damp tendrils against his long neck and forehead, his wild eyes darkened to greyish-green storm with lust, full lips glossy-wet and parted with panting breaths that escape in small huffs that fall warm against my face and neck.

I press against him, hearing his low growl of desire as he arches again, pulling me closer so that I breach that lusciously-tight, velvety heat, sinking my slick length heavy within the sweet, searing, grasping warmth that clutches at me, making me go near mad with pleasure as Jasper growls and grasps my shoulder, his other hand kneading and gripping my ass, pulling me deeper inside him as fiery spasms of white-hot pleasure swirl within me. I move inside him in deep, gliding thrusts, muttering softly and almost incoherently and he purrs soft, sexy cursing oaths in my ear as he clutches at my sweating back. My hips roll in sensual, intimate, remembered rhythm and I bury myself inside his tight, succulent heat over and over again, feeling Jasper's rippling embrace around me, enfolding me, his hard, lean body straining upward, meeting me thrust for thrust, feeling those long, strong legs vice-like around me, sliding up the wet, rolling muscles of my back as I drive relentlessly inside him and I move one hand between our sweating stomachs to grasp Jasper's hard, leaking length, stroking him, his hips grinding up into mine.

Gazing down into the perfection of that pleasure-hazy face, I smile at the way his eyebrows draw together in ecstasy, his cheeks flushed, eyes as dazed as I feel because it is almost too good, too perfect, too much heaven for a human body to withstand, but I thrust in harder and faster, rhythmically sliding and pumping my hand up and down Jasper's thick, throbbing length, and soon he is nearly howling below me, arching spasmodically into me and I feel the pulsing of the thick shaft in my hand and the rush of thick, creamy warmth pulsing wetly between us.

At the feel of those tight, sleek, clenching muscles around me, and the sharp scrape of strong hands at my back, and the sight of that panting, beautiful face below me, I reach my own blistering fulfillment, coming hard, deep and wet inside Jasper, jerking and trembling atop him as I bury my face in the smooth, sweating hollow between his neck and shoulder, muffling my cry of sated contentment against his flesh.

Groaning, I stroke myself harder, needing, again, the sweet bliss of release. I lean back into the chair, straining, and then...

A knock at the door.

Frozen, I panic for a moment.

_Oh, shit. _

Feeling as awkward and embarrassed as a hormone-addled adolescent, I let go of myself and wipe my hands on my jeans, tucking myself painfully inside them and zip up before near hobbling toward the door.

Annoyed that this is very possibly the fastest room service I've ever known seeing as I only placed my order 15 minutes previously, I snatch my wallet off the dresser as I pass it and throw open the door.

My eyes widen when instead of seeing a an overly-efficient, tip-hungry hotel waiter, I see Jasper standing there, a cocky grin on his handsome face.

I flush, my eyes wide with surprise, even as I self-consciously dart my gaze down to my crotch, trying to angle myself a little to preserve my dignity... at least somewhat.

Jasper chuckles softly and steps closer, titling his head, his lips brushing against my jaw, the scruff on his chin delicious against my skin as he murmurs in a velvety growl, "Hey, Edward. Mmm...I'm happy to see you, too, my man."

~~*~~

* * *

_One small thing I should probably clarify about this chapter, Edward's fantasy is... well, just that - his fantasy, and, as such, is missing a few real-world necessities and niceties (like condoms and preparation ;D), but there is, of course, a distinct difference between fantasy and reality. _

_I realize that some of you might be upset with Bella reading this chapter, but I wasn't intending to paint her in a negative light, so to speak. This is a very difficult time for Bella, hence her reactions/comments in this chapter._

_Reviews are like manna from heaven, and again, I can't thank you all enough for all your wonderful support of the story. My work hours are crazy now and I'm pretty much strapped for time, so I apologize beforehand if you write a review and I don't get back to you as soon as I would like to do but I will try my best to respond to the reviews as quickly as I can._

_Also, I can't tell you how thrilled and honored I was that Begin Again was nominated, along with so many of my favorite stories, for The Slash Awards! Gah! *bounces* Thank you *so* much! I was completely surprised and so excited to hear about that! If you haven't already, you should definitely go check out the awards and read the stories that are nominated in the multiple categories because they are utterly phenomenal and I am humbled to have my story included with these other incredible stories and among these talented writers I admire so much. _

_To see the nominees and vote in The Slash Awards, go to www[dot]theslashawards[dot]blogspot[dot]com (you'll need to replace all the [dot] references with an actual period in the address bar)._

_Thanks, Everyone!_ :D


	12. Chapter 12

_**A/N**__: Hello, Everyone! Wow! Two whole updates in one month - I'm on a roll now! ;) No, but seriously, I am trying to make up for going AWOL for so long after the holidays, and you guys have been so incredibly awesome and supportive of the story, and I just can't thank you enough for that! :) I really appreciate all the lovely reviews and PMs and those who have added the story to your alerts and faves - thank you!! :D Also, for those of you who may have your PMs turned off, please know that while I can't drop you a reply to your reviews, I do want you to know I so appreciate them :) and you! __**Thank you *all* for being just so absolutely amazing**__! You make writing this story a complete pleasure! :) _

_I currently have company staying with me so my writing time this week has been scattershot. In fact, this chapter I am posting without running it first by my super-talented, sweet and utterly wonderful beta Val, __**Touchstone67**__ (Love ya, BB!) because I am pressed for computer time and I needed a super-quick turnaround which I felt was unfair to drop on her at such late notice, even though knowing Val's sweet nature, she probably would have tried to accommodate me anyway, but I just felt bad doing that to her. So, with that in mind, any and all mistakes in this chapter are solely mine and I apologize for them. _

_I want to also give special thanks to Liz, the lovely, brilliant and incredibly-gifted __**Oh Jasper My Jasper, **__for her friendship and her wise, writerly advice on this chapter, especially one key part of it! :) Thanks so much, Liz! You really made it better and I so appreciate it! _

_Okay, so now for Chapter 12 - usual disclaimers: __**Twilight**__ and the characters therein, as well as the sexy menz I'm borrowing for my little story, belong to Stephanie Meyer._

* * *

_~~*~~_

_**BEGIN AGAIN**_

**Chapter 12 -** _**Sweetest Surrender**_

~~*~~

**Jasper POV**

~~*~~

Cigarette smoke curls lazily above my head as I breathe out another hazy stream and stretch against the couch, the leather sticking to the bare skin of my back. Feeling over-heated and sticky and far too pensive, I lose myself in a musing reverie on fiery copper-leaf hair, the cool elegance of dark bronze lashes curling over sylvan-sparked eyes and lips lush and red as Washington apples.

Curling one arm behind my head, I scratch at the damp curls at my nape with a gusty sigh as I reach up to take the cigarette from my mouth.

_Man, oh man..._

I lick my lips that feel full, hot, needful of a kiss, needful of _his_ kiss, and I feel them spreading into an easy smile - a physical tangibility of the phantom hope that flickers inside me.

Damn, I feel restless, though... just all tangled up and quivery inside, bucking against the reins that have held me back for years - a twining knot of fear and uncertainty. With a grunt of frustration, I slide my body against the warm leather, trying desperately to relax, my feet knocking against the arm rest as I take another long drag on my cigarette. I know I'm tearing my lungs up to hell and back with the cancer sticks, but after this day, shit, I'm _dying_ for a smoke.

Okay... maybe not the best word choice, but smoking helps when I'm all twitchy like this. Mind you, nothing works to relax a body half as well as sex. A deep, firm, sultry fuck - that'll send you into the sweetest nirvana faster than anything under heaven. I smile at the thought, musing on the fact that now, maybe, a little sexin' with my man isn't completely out of the question. Eyebrow arching at the promise of that seductive possibility, I give in to a hot vision of Edward spread hot and beautiful and wanting, all supple and straining, below me - nothing but sleek, sweat-sheened skin and sex. And then another image - those amazing jeweled eyes staring up into mine flashing like a summer storm as those ripe crimson lips wrap tight and wet and so fucking gorgeous around me.

_Perfection, those lips..._

Of course, for the moment, I'll have to settle for smoking, my other oral obsession, because I'm probably too keyed up for _anything_ else right now anyhow. My mind is spinning like a wicked whirligig, and I keep wondering if I did the right thing.

Truthfully, I feel like the world's biggest asshat leaving Edward behind at his house with Bella with all the tension between them, but, all guilt aside, I feel like it had to be done, for me, for Edward and for Bella.

That was heavy shit to throw at the poor girl all at once, and though Bella says she wants time alone to think it over (and believe me, I know how she feels because that's why I tucked tail and hauled ass home, too), I imagine she's going to realize after she's simmered down and the emotions aren't running rough-shod over her, that she and E still have some big-time talking to do. They've got a lot of things to work through and to try to sort out between them... and I don't envy them for that.

I felt like I had to go, because, come on, how would that look if E and I had taken off together, leaving Bella to feel totally abandoned? That's just not right, and I was raised better than to do something shitty like that, and especially to a sweet girl that Edward and I have already hurt in uncountable ways. It's unfortunate, but when love wages a war for the hearts and minds of men, there are always victims left raw and bleeding along the way. Sooner or later, we all suffer those wounds, but if we're lucky, we heal and are stronger for what we have endured. I've been through the heartache of Edward Cullen's leaving and now, seeing Bella suffer through it as I did years ago, I've no desire to make her pain worse.

And, truth is, too, like I told E, I just needed some time to myself to get my head wrapped around all this. It's happening so fast, and I just need to sort it all out before I see Edward again. It's a crazy stew of emotions bubbling inside me, and the overriding emotion I'm feeling is, well, love, obviously, but hope as well, and even gladness, because finally, things seem to be...

_Oh good lord... there I go again..._

The thing is, it's too soon to say, really how things are between me and E. I'm getting ahead of myself, because, as always, there's that little niggling fear eating away at my scarred psyche -- the nagging insecurity that aches inside me despite all my cool assurances to myself that I'm doing okay, that everything is going to be fine.

Even so... you bet I'm preparing for whatever eventuality unfolds.

Believe me, this here renegade is not gonna pull the stupid shit like I have in the past, jumping into things _heart_ first and damn-near braining myself in the process. You see, I have this theory that the heart and the head battle it out your whole life, so if you ignore your head and go with your heart like I did, the head retaliates and you get punished with one mother of a headache - literally or figuratively - for your rash actions, and if you ignore your heart and go with your head - like E did, then you get punished by your heart and emotions going all trip-wire on you and making you feel like you're heading for a breakdown like my man is feeling right now.

If you ask me, all you can really do is try to find some compromise - go with the heart - trust what you feel, but think things through carefully, too. Use a little common sense, don't just go balls-out for what you want without a little contingency plan in place in case it all goes to shit.

So, yeah, that's what I'm trying to do - gonna make myself a little contingency plan so that I don't drown in the quicksand in case this thing falls through.

Funny thing, though, even though I'm sitting here sucking on my fourth cigarette and musing on all this and dulling my thoughts with the bottle of beer sweating on the table beside me, I can not for the life of me let my mind _really_ dwell on my fears of what will happen should E decide to crawl back into the comfortable, closeted life he's been living for the past several years. My mind just won't go there, or... okay, yeah, my _mind _will go there but, my _heart _is a brave little solider and is fighting the good fight. It won't let me give up one drop of the precious hope that I can feel swirling through me like golden, life-giving light - warming me through and through.

You see, crazy as it sounds, I have this feeling and, god I hope I'm right, but I just feel like... it _might_ just work this time around. I see something in Edward's eyes that I never thought to see again glittering in those gorgeous emerald depths. I see fire there - determination, courage, and most of all, I see the love and passion I feel for him, that I've always felt for him, reflected back at me. I believe him when he tells me he loves me because he tells me, not only with those lush lips of his, but with his heart, his actions and his conviction.

See, the Edward Cullen I saw today is the man I fell in love with years ago. I have fucking mourned his disappearance and never did I think I'd see that gorgeous creature again. I never dared to hope I'd see that powerful prince striding and striving to reassert his purpose in the world and in my life again, taking up the mantle of responsibility and pledging his desire to prove his strength, his love and his bravery... _to me. _

Fuck, that's amazing, but that's my man - my autumn prince - all velvet-wrapped, elegant steel, and god, how I've missed him.

I know some would call me a romantic fool for trusting the man who broke my heart into ruby shards of pain, but if you lose trust, you lose it all. I have to trust him, and he has to trust me, and I have to believe we're going to earn and damn well deserve that trust we've placed in each other. I know things aren't perfect, and hell, they never will be because life in general isn't perfect, but the closest thing I've ever felt to perfection in this lifetime is loving and being loved by Edward Cullen. That's my heaven, and I'm galloping hard toward it, and I'll be damned if I let anything get in my way.

We lost so much when we lost each other -- a lifetime of memories compressed into a few short, sweet years together. I want to make memories with Edward again, I want to know that sublime joy and that fulfillment of love again.

_I want to slide behind him on the couch, my hands over his, Scarlet steady in his lap as I try to teach him how to play the guitar, his face lit bright and beautiful as dawning day as he coaxes shining silver notes, a few sweet bars of music, from the strings. I want to feel my rough fingers lace with the tapered elegance of his fingers again, guiding him over the strings, his soft, tousled, copper locks warm against the side of my face. I want to enfold him, feeling the vibration of his laughter against me as he plays, leaning back into me, his laughter more beautiful than any note Scarlet can sing. _

I want so much. I want it all. I want him.

_God, just to see that disarming, amused smile spread over the juicy apple crimson of his lips again, his verdant eyes glittering like they did that time he tried to teach me how to use chopsticks when he brought home sushi for dinner. Now, me, I'm all about the steak and potatoes. I'm not a fan of rolled, raw fish, but hell, I'd eat slimy, rice-coated eel every damn day of the week if it meant seeing my man glow luminous back at me like a harvest moon, his gaze loving, laughing warm and cinnamon-sweet against my face as he leaned forward, folding my uncooperative fingers around the chopsticks. I never did get the hang of it, and Edward laughed, bemused at the fact that my fingers, so agile on the guitar strings, were completely useless with chopsticks. I joked with a wide, cavalier grin that the chopsticks were too small, that these fingers of mine preferred a *stick* of more substantial girth to grip and guide into my mouth, and Edward, who had just slid a bite of rice-coated, slimy-something in his mouth, nearly choked with laughter, spitting his bite into his napkin, his eyes dancing with amusement as he reached over and playfully popped me on the side of the head for my teasing. I smiled a toothy grin back at him and he twined his hand in a hank of my hair, pulling me into a hot kiss that tasted of laughter and love... and maybe a little bit of nasty eel, too. _

Stretching again, I gaze up at the ceiling, watching the afternoon sun chase the shadows from the corners of the room, and I smile like an idiot around the cigarette in my mouth, before exhaling pearly smoke with a low laugh, shaking my head a little in stunned amazement at everything that has unfolded in the past several hours, wondering if perhaps Edward and I might be able, after all, to recapture some of the resplendence of what we had once known together.

Normally about this time of day, I feel weariness sinking like lead into these long bones of mine, but not today, nope... not today, because right now, all I feel is restless energy in me and I recognize it for what it is - sparks of hope zipping around inside me like lightning bugs in my soul.

Even so, though, I keep thinking about Edward, wondering what happened after I left, seeing in my mind that tense face as I stood at his door, preparing to leave. When I held his hand, I felt it tremble in my own and all I wanted to do was pull him into my arms and pepper his face with kisses, whispering my love with every slide of my lips against his warm skin. I wanted to bury my hand in that copper crown of soft hair, and breathe him in, the autumnal-sweet smell of him surrounding me again. I wanted to kiss him hot and slow and deep and feel him sliding against me, his arousal pulsing against my thigh.

Of course, out of respect for Bella, that was out of the question. Still, I couldn't resist one little soft-as-satin kiss because I wanted Edward to feel my love and know how proud I am of him.

...

My musing is interrupted by the shrill ringing of the phone then and I flop over, batting for it on the table beside me, grinning when I see Edward's name on the call screen.

I hear the lazy drawl in my voice as I answer, "Hey, darlin'. You get settled in a room or are you still at the house?"

I can't bring myself to say '_with Bella_.'

I smile at the sound of that soft, mellifluous voice as he answers that he's at the Fairmont Olympia hotel now.

So he really is staying alone at a hotel. I can just see him there, brooding like an evening storm.

"You okay, E? After I left, did... everything go alright?"

Edward doesn't say anything but I can hear him take a shaky breath and my heart catches.

"Edward," I murmur, wanting to reassure him... or myself, I'm not sure who needs reassuring the most. "I know you feel like hell right now, and I'm not gonna patronize you by saying all kinds of warm and fuzzy bullshit because I know you don't want to hear it, but I just want you to know that I can't begin to tell you how much it meant to me today for you to be the man you were always meant to be, the man I know you are. You're so much stronger than you give yourself credit for, E. I know today was a hard thing for you, but you did it, baby."

"Jasper," he gasps then, and I can hear the soft aching tears and vulnerability that saturates his quiet voice, "I don't feel very strong. I feel tired and I feel horrible about hurting Bella. It kills me, Jasper, to know I've hurt her so badly. She doesn't deserve it, and I do love her... and I don't know how to make it better."

My chest tightens at his words, and I can feel the familiar, but loathed, strangle-grasp of fear-ridden anxiety creeping up on me. Sitting up again, I rub my eyes, a weary sigh fighting its way past my lips.

"I know, E. That's some heavy shit for you and Bella (_and me_) to have to deal with. It's a fucking mess but... well, that's the way of love, yeah? Like they say - the course of true love never did run smooth, and all that, right?"

I laugh softly, but my fluttering heart isn't in it, and I know I'm panicking a little. I'm hearing his fear begin to shade his words and I'm so damn terrified that he's going to slide backward again, back into that dark closet, ease back into what's easy and comfortable, and leave me broken again, and all I can do is sit here spouting cliches at him like a gawping fool.

I hear his breath catch and I shake my head, muttering to myself, mad at myself. _Stupid, stupid! Come on, Jasper, you idiot, don't fuck this up! _

"No, it doesn't run smooth at all," Edward murmurs then, his voice barely above a whisper and I feel a desperate longing for him so powerful that it feels like my heart is being squeezed to liquid pulp.

I want to beg him to please not give into the demons of fear howling in his heart because I hear them, too, and I swear to god, I will fight to ignore the fuckers. I want to reassure him, to make him see that, bad as it hurts now and even as guilty as he feels, that he did the right thing, that he couldn't continue living a lie. I want to make him see that the love we can share again is worth it - worth all the heartache and pain - all of it - if we really work at it ...but my stubborn pride stays my tongue.

I growl in frustration, and Edward hears me and seems to mistake that growl for annoyance at him.

"Jasper, I'm sorry," he stammers, his normally smooth voice roughened with pain. "I know we needed to talk, that you and Bella deserved the truth, and I don't regret that, but I hate that I've hurt you because I love you so much," he sobs quietly then, and my heart swells with love and breaks at his agony, tears tightening my own throat.

"Edward, baby, please don't cry. It kills me to hear you cry. I love you, too. Christ, Edward, I love you so much."

Another muffled gasp breaks from him and I rub the heel of my hand against my eyes, rubbing at the tears burning there as I get up from the couch, pacing restless and worried, my hand clenching and unclenching, needing the warm pressure of his hand in mine.

"I've always loved you, Jasper, my own wild angel. I love you more than you know... and I always will," he murmurs in a ragged whisper.

I don't know why his words scare me instead of soothing me, but to me, something about them – it sounds like finality and I close my eyes, leaning my head against the wall, my hand doubled in a fist against my heart that jumps like a jackrabbit inside my chest. My voice is raw with anguish as I ask him if he's going back home to Bella.

"What? Going home?" he asks.

I nod, the mad staccato of my heart pounding through me so hard I can feel the pulse of it behind my closed eyes. I can fucking feel the fear demons beating their mad drums inside me.

"Are you going back to her, Edward?"

He sucks in a breath, then his words rush through the line with breathless urgency. "Jasper, no! Of course not. No, baby. I want to be with _you_, Jasper... that's why I did everything I did today. It was for you, for _us_, Jazz. I want to be with you again... if you'll have me."

Relief courses through me like a hot, sweet wave, rolling through me so thick and fierce that my damn knees near buckle and I press my hand against the wall, steadying myself as I feel a gasp of relieved, almost giddy laughter burst from me.

"Jesus, Edward... you scared the shit out of me. Of course I'll have you, you dumb bastard!" I smile to hear the unmistakable sound of a sniffled chuckle on the other end of the line as I continue, "Believe you me, darlin', there is no way on God's green earth I would have gone through what we did today if I didn't think you or our relationship wasn't worth it. Babe, I'd crawl through hell on my hands and knees for you - you know that."

It's like I can hear him smiling over the phone and in my head, I see that sweet, sincere, beautifully-crooked grin spreading over his face as he laughs again softly and answers, "I feel like I _did_ crawl through hell on my hands and knees for you today, Jazz."

Chuckling softly, I smile, feeling almost buoyant with relief, cradling the phone against my ear as my heart slows it's frantic cantering and I murmur, "Yeah, I know it feels that way, baby, and I'm sorry it was so hard, but... thank you."

"Thank you for being there for me, Jasper. I couldn't have gone through it without you."

He pauses for a moment, then his voice lightens and he sounds almost boyish as he asks me, "So, you're proud of me?"

I laugh. "Yeah, I'm proud of you, babe."

"And does that earn me any brownie points," he asks and I grin.

"Brownies?" I laugh. "That's all you want from me? Well, hell, darlin', you're easily satisfied."

Edward groans and I can imagine him rolling those forest-green eyes and I grin as he laughs, calling me an asshole.

"Now, don't be callin' me names, Sweet Thing, or there'll be no _sweet_ treats for you. Besides, I thought you liked that part of my anatomy."

I'm rewarded with another warm laugh as he agrees, saying he's very fond of _all _parts of my anatomy, and I can't help the stupid grin that dimples over my cheeks at that.

"Same here, E. Love every inch of you, my man."

Cradling the phone between my neck and shoulder, I stretch my arms above my head with a yawn, releasing the lingering tension coiled there, as I ask him, "Alright, so you really want brownies? Well, I bet Betty and I can whip you up some brownies so good they'll make you wanna slap your grandma!"

Edward laughs vibrantly again and the sound warms me straight through to my toes. I smile again feeling the muscles stretch happy creases on my face.

"Betty?" Edward asks, his voice light with teasing. "Should I be worried? Who is this Betty person?"

"Oh, that's right. You haven't had the pleasure of meetin' the esteemed Miss Crocker, huh?"

"No, I have not. Is she beautiful? Should I be worried?"

"Well, darlin', as they say, the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, and let me tell you, that woman knows how to cook up a storm, so I love me some Betty, but no, babe, she's nowhere near as beautiful as you," I answer with a rumbling laugh.

"I am very glad to hear it because I would hate to have to teach Miss Crocker what happens to those who try to steal my cowboy away from me," Edward replies, his voice smooth and warm as melted caramel now.

Chuckling, I shake my head. "No worries, my man. I'm all yours."

Edward laughs again, then I hear him yawn softly and I imagine him lying back against the hotel room bed, his hair shining against the whiteness of crisp sheets like autumn leaves against the pristine white of first snowfall.

I feel a hot throb of desire roll through me at the vision.

"Play for me, Jasper," he murmurs then, his voice low, almost purring.

"What, baby?"

"Play Scarlet for me. I haven't heard my Orpheus play in far too long, and I miss the sound of your voice and the music of your fingers on the strings."

I smile at his request. "Your wish is my command. I'll have to put you on speaker though."

I set the phone down on the coffee table, pressing the speaker button. Leaning over then, I pick up my stringed girl, smiling at the familiar weight of her in my hands and I caress my fingers over her strings, hearing Edward hum in pleasure. Smiling, I coax from Scarlet an earthy song for my airy prince of the sky, singing soft and husky.

When I finish, Edward sighs, his breath catching softly, and I smile, asking him if he likes the song.

"Yes," he breathes, his voice low and velvety and I hear desire in that word which causes my cock to throb with aching warmth.

"I love it, Jazz," he murmurs then. "It's beautiful, Angel. You have such a gift. Why aren't you sharing it, Jasper? It's wrong for you to hide that talent away from everyone."

I still my fingers on the strings, worrying at my bottom lip as I reach for the bottle of beer and take a swallow of it, rubbing my thumb against the moisture on the outside of the bottle.

"Jasper?" Edward asks again and I sigh, setting the beer back down, cradling Scarlet to me like a shield.

"I'm here. Just thinking, darlin'."

Music sings in my blood, beats in my heart, strums in my soul, and it's always been a huge part of who I am.

**~*~**

_When I was 11, my Papaw gave me the guitar that had once belonged to my daddy. It looked a little worse for the wear but I polished it up and Papaw helped me re-string it and it was good as new. My grandfather taught me to play it... and I was in love. _

_Th guitar was almost too big for me, and I remember looking up once and seeing myself reflected in the mirror in my grandparents' front parlor - all long, skinny, coltish limbs and gangly arms, big eyes, a mop of sun-bleached curls, sunburned shoulders and freckles across my nose. Awkward as I surely looked, though, I felt anything but, because even though those hands of mine were small and dirty from tending to the horses, they were graceful and agile on the strings even then. Seemed to me even then that I'd found my calling. I wanted to be a musician when I grew up. _

_Well, as it happened, one day, I'd skipped mucking out the barn to spend some time on my music. It was one of those gorgeous spring mornings when the air tastes sweet and caresses over you, and it was a good day to be an 11-year old boy with a guitar and a dream. _

_I sat down by the lake and started playing, and before I knew it, some of the guys who worked the ranch ambled down to the lakeside to join me. They were a friendly, fun-loving group of guys and they were good to me and never treated me like 'just a kid'. They appreciated my music and before long, some of them were calling out requests for songs and even singing along as I played. _

_Now, my father had been gone the three days previous - supposedly doing business in San Antonio, but I'd heard him stumble drunkenly through the door the night before, and I heard Momma yelling and Rosie crying and I knew El Diablo had returned. I hated it when Daddy was home. He made it hard on everyone. _

_Considering my father's drunken state the night before, you'd think he would have been in bed sleeping off the bender, but no such luck. Nope. Instead, he was on the damn war path. __The screen-door flew open with such force it hit the side of the porch and my daddy lurched out of the house, bellowing, his eyes red as fire, spitting anger like a dragon spitting flame. I stopped playing and got real still as he approached. _

_Daddy yelled at the guys, calling them 'lazy sons of bitches' and said he didn't pay them to 'sit on their asses listening to music the whole damn day'. One of the guys, Javier, tried to edge in a little in front of me, and while I appreciated his protectiveness, I knew Daddy would just as soon punch him as look at him, so I peered around Javier's legs, shaking like a leaf. Daddy pointed at me and I froze, fingers stilling on the guitar seeing the drink-fueled fury on his face as he jerked the guitar from my hands, yelling that no son of his was going to be a 'sissy musician' playing for the entertainment of others like a 'performing monkey."_

_He then brought his leg up and smashed the back of the guitar against his dirty, denim-clad knee, shattering and destroying the instrument - and me - in the process. I went numb inside as he hauled me up, nearly jerking my arm from the socket, rank spittle flying against my face as he bellowed at me to grow up and do my duties and act like a man. _

_A man? I was fucking 11 years old. I wasn't even a teenager yet, and I certainly didn't feel like much of a man right then with my lip trembling and tears burning in my eyes as I shook in my father's angry grasp. I was just a scared boy whose mean drunk of a bastarding father had taken something beautiful and twisted it into something humiliating and painful. _

_I stopped playing music that day. I didn't have a guitar to strum, anyway, nor the desire anymore to play. My father had stolen the song from my soul. _

_On my 16__th__ birthday, however, my Papaw returned to me the gift of song, and the guitar my granddad gifted me with that day was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen (until Edward). Her strings glittered like gold and her wood was a deep mahogany color that gleamed in the sunlight with all the dusky red of autumn cherries. I named her Scarlet, and of course, she's still with me. _

_Scarlet brought joy and love back into my life, but even so, even to this day, a part of me has to almost psyche myself up any time I play live solo because I still hear the hateful words of my father ringing in my ear, but... once I actually start to play, then I relax back into the music and I'm in my own little world, lost to the music. _

**_~*~_**

It worries Edward that I don't try to make a go of my musical career on my own terms as a solo artist, and I've never told him about what happened with my father and the resulting mindfuck it did to me, how for years I almost felt ashamed to be a '_sissy musician'_, instead of doing a '_real job' _using my hands, my back, the strength of my muscles, not the strumming of my fingers or the timbre of my voice.

And... Edward doesn't know this but a couple of years ago I did try to make a go of it, and I failed miserably.

**~*~**

_After Edward and I parted, I needed something to pull me up out of the grave of loneliness and self-pity I'd dug for myself. I finally decided I was tired of being a session guitarist, spending all my time in some darkened studio playing behind other musicians. I wanted to start my life over again. I wanted to face my fears and insecurities and make my own music and sing my own songs, so I decided to start small by playing a few sets down at Finnegan's, the Irish pub not far from my apartment. _

_It went well, and I struck up a friendship with another musician who sometimes played at the pub. His name was Eamon and he was from Rosslare, Ireland but he was currently living in Seattle. Eamon lived a double life - quality control analyst for a software company by day and musician by night. He was talented and lively and quick to smile and laugh and he was a great guy to jam around with and with whom to toss back a beer. _

_It was apparently fated, too, that Eamon and I become friends because it turned out his ex-girlfriend's sister was a music producer and ran a Seattle recording studio. Of course, because of the tense relationship between him and his ex, it was out of the question for him to try to cut a record there but he gave me the woman's name and told me I should check into it. _

_Honestly, I was scared as fuck, but I thought I should at least give it a shot - why the hell not? What's the worst that could happen? I wouldn't make it? Well, I'd just be back at square one - no harm, no foul, so I called for an appointment and the very next day I showed up at the woman's office. _

_Her name was Maria Riveira, and though I didn't know what I expected to see walking in that door, it sure as hell wasn't the sight that met my eyes. Maria was maybe in her late 30's, early 40s, and was a damn fine-looking woman with thick, shining ebony hair and a sultry smile. I'm gay but I'm not blind so even I could recognize her smoldering appeal. I walked in, guitar in hand, and she smirked - literally fucking smirked at me - her eyes raking slow up and down me as she leaned forward across her desk. _

"_Jasper Whitlock?" she purred. I nodded, blushing as she smiled and tucked a lock of dark hair behind her ear, arching her eyebrow. "You're not quite what I expected, Mr. Whitlock."_

_I started to reply that she wasn't quite what I expected either, but I wasn't sure how that would sound so I stayed my tongue and instead just smiled a lazy smile, bowing my head slightly with a polite, "Ma'am. Thank you for seeing me."_

"_Of course I wanted to see you. A real-life singing cowboy from Texas! What a treat!" _

_She laughed and her laughter was as husky as her low, sultry voice, as she added, "I hope the music is as gorgeous as the musician."_

_I felt heat rising to my cheeks and I cleared my voice, stammering, "Uh, thank you, Ma'am."_

"_Please, none of that 'Ma'am' business," she smiled, waving her hand airily. "It makes me feel old which is the last thing I want to feel around a young, strapping thing like you."_

_Then she winked at me. Oh yeah, she was laying it on thick, and I wanted to tell her that, while I appreciated the effort and was flattered, her seductive wiles were wasted on the likes of me, but I kept thinking that, maybe, if I went along with her, just flirted with her some, that I might just get a little something out of this... like a contract. _

_It was bold and wrong of me, but I flirted the hell out of her - pulling out all the damn stops - laying the accent on thick, flashing deep dimples and a wink and all the southern charm I could muster. It was shameless... and so was I, and I felt a little like a whore but I kept reminding myself that this might be my one and only chance to really make a go of my music as a solo artist - none of this backing studio musician crap - so I had to do it. _

"_Well, Cowboy," Maria said then, crossing one leg over the other, her skirt riding up her thigh so high I could see the black lace garter of her stockings. "Show me what you got."_

_I grinned widely and nodded, sitting down on the couch across from her to pull out Scarlet. _

"_No, Jasper," she murmured then, rising from her chair. She walked past me to close and lock the office door and I smelled the scent of her perfume as she brushed by me - rich and exotic and vaguely cinnamon-sweetened. She joined me on the couch then, her eyes dark pools of long-lashed lust, as she smiled, pulling Scarlet from my arms. _

_I could feel fear pumping adrenaline through my cantering heart as she picked up my slack arms, wrapping them around her as she straddled my lap. Gasping, I gazed wild-eyed and shocked up at her as she smiled, pushing the hair back from my face. _

"_Show me how you play, my pretty cowboy," she murmured huskily, her breath as sweet and sultry-cinnamon as her perfume and I closed my eyes, something hot and hard and sharp twisting inside me as I realized that with my eyes closed, just breathing her in, I could almost imagine Edward's crisp autumn scent. _

_She reached behind her to push one of my hands down over her backside and brought the other one around to cup her breast. I know she could feel my hands trembling against her and she laughed throatily, mistaking my nerves and anxiety for the quiver of anticipation, excitement and desire. _

_I remember thinking: 'Oh god, what is wrong with me?' _

_I had to tell her the truth. _

"_Ma'am... uhm, Maria, wait, just... hang on, please. I... look, I think you might have the wrong idea. You're a damn gorgeous woman, but... well, the long and short of it is... I'm gay."_

_Her dark eyes narrowed and she gazed at me for a long moment, musing, before a slow catlike smile spread over her ripe lips and she shook her head, purring, "Are you sure about that, Jasper?" _

_What? Was I sure about that? Hell, yes, I was sure about that, but then, leaning in, she took my mouth in a long, full kiss that was too slick, too hot, too soft, entirely too wrong, and I was near frozen for a moment, shocked stupid and silent, but then my betraying body took over and I started kissing her back, my mind filled with visions of Edward, torn between a longing, lusting love for him and a desire to punish him - if only in my own mind - by kissing and fucking this wanton woman on my lap. _

_If you ask me now why and how I did it, I can give you excuses and pseudo-sexual psychological explanations, but the hard, ugly truth of the matter was I did it for my own personal gain and to punish Edward. I'm not proud of it. In fact, I'm ashamed, and that shame has stayed with me, affecting every level of life and my musical career. _

_I whored myself out for a fucking contract... literally. _

_So... yeah, I got the contract and Maria tried to come on to me again several days later. The woman was voracious, but this time, I stuck to my guns and I told her I couldn't do it. She cooled her jets after that, and I assumed she had accepted the fact that I really was gay. Anyway, we cut the record, and it was pretty damn good if I do say so myself. I soothed my shame with the thought that the record made up for all the... hard work to make it. I remember thinking that I still owed Edward everything for that record, though, because even though I was only ever with Maria that one time, the whole time I had closed my eyes, replacing her soft, wet heat with his firm, hard, supple strength. _

_After the record came out, Maria and I celebrated. She brought a bottle of Dom Perignon into the studio one night and we shared it. Turns out, she was trying to soften me up. Maria was an influential person in the Seattle music and cultural scene and was always having to attend various black tie events and the like. She 'strongly suggested' that I consider pretending to be straight so I could escort her to said events. She wanted 'a handsome man' at her side and she called it a 'win-win' situation. _

_Maybe it was stupid of me, but I just couldn't do it. I couldn't live that lie and pretend to be someone I wasn't, and so I apologized but explained that it just wasn't going to happen. Maria was unable to understand what my opposition was to it, and even though I explained to her that it just didn't feel right for me to pretend to be straight, she was having none of it. She was pissed as all hell. _

_From that point on, you could pretty much say my solo recording career was done. I was black-balled. To hear Maria tell it, I had humiliated and made a fool of her and she was determined I wouldn't soon forget it. She had friends in the industry, and soon it seemed the whole of Seattle's music community knew about the 'gay cowboy who'd knock boots with the suits, so long as he was paid handsomely for it.' _

_I disappeared for a while after that, until Charlotte and Pete coaxed me back into the studio to play backup for a friend of theirs who had a golden voice but no guitarist. I'd missed making music and it was good to be back. I tried to ignore the pointed and lascivious stares I sometimes received when someone recognized me from looks or reputation alone, and I concentrated on the music. Music was my mistress, and in her I could lose myself, forgetting the humiliation and shame, forgetting Edward and my lonely pain, just sinking back into the sweet strains of the chords, letting them soothe me, love me and keep me sane. _

**_~*~_**

I've never told Edward about Maria, choosing to let him think that, as before when we were together, it was my own fears of failure holding me back. Now I feel like a huge fucking hypocrite after practically demanding honesty from him about everything, when all the while, I've carried the burden of shame and guilt and unconfessed secrets, too.

"Jasper?" Edward asks then and I hear a small note of worry in his voice.

"Yeah? Oh, I'm sorry, baby, just kinda lost in my thoughts there for a moment. You know what music does to me," I intone quietly, wondering if he can hear the catch in my voice.

"Will you play another song for me?" he asks, and I do. I play another song for him, this one without words - just music - but every note is meant for him, my man, my muse, who inspires the gift of song in my soul.

Edward sounds calmer now and though I still worry about him sitting up in that cold hotel room alone, I hope that I've given him enough love and reassurance to stem the tide of the storm-ravaged seas of guilt and fear in which Edward and I are prone to swimming.

We hang up with fresh assurances of love, and I walk over to gaze out my window at the orange and purple evening sky. Damn, it's a gorgeous sunset and I realize what I want more than anything is to be with Edward - right the hell then. I want to stand behind him, my arms wrapped around his waist, smoldering slow kisses up his neck as we watch the sunset over the distant mountains.

* * *

I have an issue with self-control, meaning I have precious little of it. If I want something, I grab it. I go for it...with the notable exception of a solo musical career, but otherwise, determination has always been one of the driving forces in my life, and I've learned never to ignore that wise little voice inside that tells you what you should do.

And right now what I need to do is be with Edward. I can't get him out of my mind. I have to see him. I have to know he is alright.

So I leave for the hotel.

Ignoring the wind that whips redness across my cheeks and tears a banshee streak through my hair, I ride Mae like the hounds of hell themselves are after me. I think I might be breaking a land speed record, and I laugh at the exhilaration I feel pumping blood and hot adrenaline through my system.

When I reach the hotel, I pull into a spot near the back of the parking lot and try to finger-comb some order in my wind-tangled hair. I glance up at the hotel and smile then, rubbing my chin, musing and wryly amused that I'm actually here and soon to be with my man again.

Loping toward the lobby of the hotel, I chew on a stick of Trident before tossing it into the trash bin on my way inside. I nod at the desk clerk, glancing down at the hastily-scrawled room number written on my hand as I board the elevator, singing along with the bad BeeGees music pouring through the speakers.

Damn. I should be shot for knowing the lyrics to "_How Deep is Your Love_", much less singing it.

Edward's room is down at the end of the hall - just as he likes it - high up, quiet, private - an aerie fitting for a prince of the sky.

When I reach his room, I knock on the door, feeling my heart speed up a bit, knocking inside my chest, as I hear Edward shuffling around inside the room. As he throws open the door, his eyes wide and round, I smile at the sight of him. He's dressed in nothing but a button-down shirt, currently unbuttoned, over a pair of sexy jeans and he's such a sight for sore eyes - barefoot, bare-chested perfection - and he looks good enough to eat and... well, I'm sex-starved.

And, oh fuck. I mean, look at him in those jeans, or better yet, look what is _inside_ those jeans.

_Damn... excited to see me are you, Sweet Thing? _

I wonder if I'm interrupting a wank session? That must be it. _Brooding and musing, my ass. More like musing on my ass!_ I grin at the thought, feeling my smile stretching, eyes crinkling at the sight of him, even as he flushes and turns slightly, trying to hide his obvious erection from me. I listen for the sounds of porn pouring from the TV - the tell-tale groans and bad music, but I don't hear anything from the room as Edward steps aside, holding the door open and I lean down, sliding my lips against his strong jaw, murmuring against his skin, "Hey, Edward. Mmm... I'm happy to see you, too, my man."

The words seem to undo him, and he turns to me, his gaze beseeching and he looks so lost suddenly, so forlorn, that all my sexual bravado fades in the face of the pain written on his.

"E? Baby... hey, hey, come here. I got you..." I whisper, kicking the door closed behind me as I enfold him and he slumps against me with a harsh gasping breath, his arms wrapping around me almost desperately. I hold him tightly, sliding my hand under his shirt, to stroke the smooth, warm skin of his back in slow, soothing circles, my other hand sliding up into his hair, stroking through it as he nuzzles behind my ear and I feel the glide of his tears slide warm and wet against my neck.

I knew this was coming - the storm breaking before the dawn, and I'm glad that I can be here with him to weather the howling winds and rains of guilt and loss and pain. Pressing kisses against his temple, I pull back a bit to look into those hurricane eyes... my gorgeous stormbringer.

He swallows and closes his eyes, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

Such simple words, but I hear the sweet sincerity in them and I stroke my thumb over the sweeping curve of his cheek, catching a tear as he looks up at me again. I wipe the tear from his face, then lean forward to press my lips to his cheek, lapping soft and slow, at the salty wetness there. I feel him release another shaky breath, his arms sliding up, his hands gliding around my hips and his thumbs stroking me through my jeans, caressing over the dip of my pelvis.

"It's okay, darlin'," I whisper, scratching my blunt nails gently against his spine, smiling as he shivers, easing into my embrace a little deeper.

"No," he murmurs, shaking his head, his hair brushing a silken stroke against my face and the side of my neck, catching a little on the stubbled whiskers there with a soft rasping sound. "It's not okay, Jasper. What I've done is _not _okay."

"None of that now," I answer him with a soft, low growl. "You've apologized, Edward. You're doing everything you can to make things right again. That's all you can do, baby... and it's enough for now."

He doesn't answer me but I feel his arms tighten as he nestles closer, and as he does, I feel the hard heat of his arousal beating steady through his jeans, echoing the pulse of his heart against my chest.

"Mmm..." I bite my lip, rolling my head against his, the scent of him, the feel of him, the sound of his deep breaths, all playing havoc on me and my hard-won self-control. I'm trying to be good, to just be here for him, to love him and support him, but my body is wanting to _love_ him in another way altogether, and I know Edward must sense the battle within me because I feel his hand slide over my ass, stroking, kneading just a little.

"Jasper," he breathes, and the sound of that soft, low voice sends fire licking through my veins as I pull back to look into his eyes again.

"Yeah, baby?"

I watch his gaze caress over my face with a soft, heated look as he slides his hands up, his thumbs stroking over the stubble on my jaw, then over my lips. I open my mouth, sliding my lips over his thumb, sucking slow and steady on it as he groans, feathery lashes fluttering over the sylvan splendor of those incredible eyes of his that make me think of the dappled greyish-gold-green of a forest floor. Playfully, I bite down on his thumb, smiling around it as I watch an echoing smile spread over his face before I release his thumb with a slow slurp that causes him to groan, shivering again.

"Jasper, I..."

His words are interrupted by a brisk rap on the door and I frown.

"Oh, it's my dinner," Edward explains, opening the door. I move to sit on the side of the bed as the dreadlocked, French-accented room service waiter politely greets Edward, introducing himself as Laurent as he rolls a white-draped cart of covered dishes, coffee and ice water into the room.

The waiter sees me sitting there and I feel so fucking out of place suddenly in this fancy hotel room. He's probably wondering what the hell someone like me is doing with a wealthy, well-known, well-heeled writer like Edward. I look like some trick Edward picked up in my old jeans, scuffed boots, worn leather jacket and faded T-shirt. I look like a 21st century, wavy-haired version of John Voight's Midnight Cowboy.

Anxiously, I pat my jacket pocket and Edward turns to me with a crooked smile, shaking his bright, tousled head. "You can't smoke in here, Jasper. The hotel is non-smoking, baby."

I nod, a quick smile settling over my lips and into my heart as I realize, watching the waiter set the dishes out neatly on the table in the corner of the room, that Edward has acknowledged me right in front of the waiter who, if he even noticed, doesn't seem to give a flying fuck,... but _I_ noticed. And I am grateful.

Edward thanks Laurent and tips him and, as the waiter leaves us, he nods, smiling at me on his way out the door.

"Are you hungry, Jazz?" Edward asks with a gusty sigh then, his hands on his hips as he gazes at the food before him. "I ordered all this and I don't know why I did. I'm not even remotely hungry."

Sauntering up behind him, I wrap my arms around him - just as I did in my vision earlier - pressing soft sucking kisses along the warm, ivory column of his neck. He groans, leaning back into me as I nuzzle behind his ear, my breath washing over the shell of it as I murmur huskily, "All I want right now is you, Edward."

I feel him grow taut in my arms, his strong back tightening as he turns to face me then, a battle raging in his eyes and a sound erupts from deep in his throat, deep in his soul - a soft, almost anguished sound - heavy with meaning.

"Oh god, Jasper..."

I grip him, sliding my hands up to cup his face, my eyes wild as I stare into his, my aching want meeting his primal need too-long-denied, the love and lust coupled with near-crippling guilt and a dagger-silvered sliver of fear - all reflected in those swimming, stormy emerald depths blazing back at me.

He shakes his head and groans and I can't tell if it's a sound of desire or surrender, perhaps both. He grasps my biceps then in a bruising grip and I answer back with a low growl and give in to the full rush of love and desire that builds inside me, blazing, burning from my very pores. I quiver with the need to rip the shirt away from him and revel in the feel of his hot, satin nakedness against my skin, to feel that strong chest and hard, sleek belly pressing into mine, and I feel my nostrils flare like a Mustang's, breathing in the musky scent of him. I can't resist. I don't fucking want to resist. I've resisted for far too damn long... fucking years...

I lean in and take his mouth in a hard, bruising kiss, my whole body trembling with heated urgency at the much-missed taste of him and groan at the heated pumping against my lips and tongue. Licking in firm, deliberate, wet swirls against his ripe lips, I shiver at the taste of him as he parts that sweet mouth for me and I slide my tongue inside, working at that soft, lush mouth like a drowning man, like a desperate man, and I suppose that's what I am.

Heart pounding, cock throbbing, I feel like six foot two inches of pure lust. His tongue meets mine, coiling sinuous around my own as he buries his long fingers in my hair, fisting his hands in the tangled waves, kissing me back just as hard, just as hungry and crushing and wet, our breaths sliding with every hot glide of our lips and tongues against one another, and it feels so good and he tastes so good that I nearly lose myself to him as he milks a husky whimper from my chest that he swallows with a triumphant moan.

He pulls back from my lips with a gasp then and I growl, shaking my head before pressing my mouth to his again, unwilling to give up this pleasure just yet. Rolling my hips against his, I nudge him backward until the back of his legs touch the bed. Sliding my knee onto the bed, my hand massages the smooth muscles of Edward's lower back as I put my weight on my knee, pressing him down against the wide, white bed.

Pulling from our kiss, I smile slowly - a lazy, lusty smile at him - as I brace my hands on the bed on either side of Edward as he gazes up at me, a '_come hither_' gleam in those darkened eyes, soft, heavy breaths panting from those kiss-swollen, crimson lips and I groan throatily as he reclines backward, resting on his elbows - my adored Adonis....

"God... baby, you are so fucking beautiful," I say to him then, my voice husky and drawling, whisky-honey pouring over the vowels, softening them, relaxing him so that he gifts me with another one of those sexy-sweet smiles that makes my heart dance the two-step. Grinning down at him, he chuckles softly and leans up, kissing hotly at my neck, laving his tongue over it.

His voice is low, muffled by my flesh as he sucks at my skin. "So are you, Jasper, so gorgeous, my angel."

Near purring at his words, I slide into a predatory crouch over him as I bend to taste that warm, lush-lipped mouth again, sliding my hand up to thumb over the ripe bud of one of his nipples, causing Edward to groan, arching into me, hot breath rushing sweet into my mouth as I feel that firm peak rising under my touch.

"Jasper," he groans, arching supple below me and I growl, pressing my weight down atop him, snapping my hips against him before grinding them hot and tight, in a sensual roll against his hips and heat and hardness, hot fire scorching through me with every rolling movement.

"Fuck..." I groan, my arms trembling as I brace them against the bed and lean down to slide my tongue in a wet caress over the smooth skin of his collarbone, mouthing over it, biting, claiming, possessing that which I love and lost before and never want to lose again. I'm so damn hungry for him, salivating to taste all this hot salt skin. He gasps and his hands grip at my back and my backside, hauling me down closer and I grunt, thrusting hard against him before leaning in to kiss him again, crushing my mouth to his before the kiss melts into something smoother and sweeter.

As we part from our kiss, Edward growls, the primal sound vibrating against my chest as he pulls at my jacket, his beautiful face twisted into a near snarl of impatience and need, and I smile, grabbing his wrists as I push them back against the bed.

"Shhh, E, it's okay, darlin'. I'm not goin' anywhere," I murmur with a smile, thrusting slow and sensual against him.

His face relaxes then and I feel his body spread out all nice and loose below me as I sit up, straddling his waist, holding my weight on my knees as I slide off my jacket and pull my T-shirt over my head.

The appreciative sound Edward makes evokes a vibration inside me - making me quiver, as does his touch, as he slides his hands up the corded muscles of my back. That gorgeous gaze of his is almost reverent and I can't help but remember all the times I've seen him look at me like this, and loved it, and never forgot it, and never thought I'd ever see it again. A thousand words are pulsing in my heart but I'm afraid to say them, afraid to break this moment because it's too perfect, too fragile, too easily shattered, and Edward and I still have some ways to go before things are completely right between us.

The physical part of our relationship is right, but then again, that was never a problem for us.

Edward's face softens, his eyes glazing over with a gleam as he slides his hand around my waist to tenderly trace over my tattoo, and with only the smallest tremble in his chin, the tiniest wrinkle in his brow, he sighs, sliding his hand up then to cup my face, long gentle fingers stroking over the skin and scruff and I turn my head, pressing a hot kiss to his palm.

"I love you, Jasper."

The words are so soft but stir in my soul like a song. I've promised myself not to go too far with this, that tonight is just about connecting together again on a strictly physical level because we both need it, and I've vowed that we're going to take this slow this time around, that we're not going to make the same mistakes we did before Edward left for Italy, but even so, I feel myself giving in to the love and passion that still pounds so pretty between us.

I nod, my throat tight as I answer him. "I love you, too, Edward..."

My voice catches then. "I fucking missed you, baby..."

I hear the husky tremor in my voice and before I have a chance to feel embarrassed about it, Edward is surging up from the bed, his arms sliding around my back, his knees drawing up behind me and we tangle tender and tight together as we always used to do, as we were _made_ to do.

His heart beats fast and strong against my chest as I push the shirt off his shoulders, needing the entirety of his skin against mine. Edward shrugs it off impatiently, his gaze heated and loving as I palm, heavy and warm, down his satin-skinned back and he squeezes my denim-clad thigh and, for a moment, we just look at each other, remembering and reveling with eyes and touch, stroking and soothing.

Having Edward in my arms again, around me, beneath me, _with _me, I feel an overwhelming desire to be with him in _every way _and the tenderness of the moment burns into something more erotic and primal. His hands slide down to cup under me and I ease down lower against him, sliding my erection against his, smiling as he moans, kneading up my back when I curl my hips in and roll slow and hot and lazy against him, letting him feel the pulse and throb of my need for him. The feeling is so incredible that I groan in his ear.

"Jazz," he pants, laying his head against my shoulder as I rock hot and hard against him, wanting to feel that gorgeous friction again and again.

"What, baby?" I pant huskily.

"Please..."

So fucking pretty to hear him beg. Growling lustily, I roll forward, pressing him back against the bed, biting into my bottom lip as my thighs slide between his, spreading out and spreading him so that I can get in there just right. I gaze down at him, my heart stuttering in my chest as I practically fuck him through my jeans, my cock straining hard against the punishing layers of denim between us.

"Mmm..." Groaning, my breath escapes me and I want to close my eyes to really 'feel' this moment, but I want to see him even more. I _have_ to see him.

"Please, what, E?" I ask him then, my voice rough with desire as I brace my hands against the bed and thrust firmly, causing Edward to groan. "What do you want, Sexy?"

I gaze heatedly at him, thrusting smooth and languid as I lean in to kiss him again. Edward groans against my mouth and I lap at his swollen lips with a wicked tongue, whispering against them as I rock slow and firm against him, "Do you want my hard, throbbing cock, baby?"

He whimpers and I grin, and ask him with low growl that thrums against his chest, "Or do you want my hot, wet mouth? Want me to suck off this gorgeous, aching cock of yours or maybe you want me to slide inside your tight, lush ass and fuck you so deep and sweet and slow, yeah? Or take you hard and primal?"

He groans and it's the sweetest damn sound. Edward has always loved the dirty talk. "All of it, Jasper, baby, please...I just need you. Oh god, I need you so much."

"You've got me," I smile, nuzzling under his jaw, pressing soft, biting kisses at the warm skin there as I grind into him again, pleasure thrumming molasses-smooth and warm through me. "Can't you feel me? You've got me - all of me, E."

And he does. The sweetest surrender.

He swallows and I lap at his Adam's apple, causing him to laugh - that much-missed velvety rumble - the sound warm and sultry as a Louisiana sunset, and he slides his hand through my hair, tangling in the unruly blond locks. I lean up to smile dimpled and devilish down at him and he laughs softly again, smiling as he cups the back of my neck, pulling me down to rub his cheek and jaw against mine.

Edward's breath roughens and he slides his legs up, his bare feet sliding against the back of my jeans-clad calves as he sucks at my bottom lip, gliding the tips of his warm fingers into the back of my jeans to caress the top of my ass.

Shivering at the feeling, I groan, "Damn, E....god, baby, you're so volcano hot." I chuckle huskily against his neck, nipping at his earlobe as I playfully purr with a flick of my tongue against the lobe of his ear and tease, "I wanna make you spew like lava."

Edward laughs at that, pulling a face. "Ugh, Jasper! God, sweetheart, that's not hot. Spew is not a sexy word. Pick another."

Laughing, I grin down at him, sliding one hand down to knead his thigh, groaning as he tightens his legs around me. "Uhm... okay, Wordsmith, well then, darlin', how about... cream? Is that better? I wanna make you melt all over this bed, Edward. I wanna slide so deep inside you, work you open so sweet, fuck you deep and firm just like you like it, feel your gorgeous cock throbbing and creaming against my belly as I rock inside you in sensual, rolling thrusts in that wild rhythm like we used to share. Remember, Sweetheart?"

"God, Jasper," Edward pants, a leering smile spreading over his face as he grabs my backside hard and bucks up against me. "I remember, my wicked, wanton angel," he murmurs low and velvety and I growl, nuzzling into his gorgeous, copper-bronze hair, scenting him, my whole body seeming to hum and vibrate with the nearness of him, my hands greedy and grasping at his smooth, warm skin and the ivory curves of his hard muscles.

The slow burn of lust throbs inside me at the feel of all that hot, taut skin beneath me, my heart thumping like a bass drum against Edward, and though I'm trying to take this nice and slow, I'm having a _hard _time of it, especially when he growls a little, reaching between us to tug at my jeans.

"Nah, babe. This is _my_ show tonight," I laugh, grabbing his wrists and arching my eyebrow as I push his hands back onto the bed. Rising slightly over him, I arch my back, rolling the full heat of my erection against his, grinning roguishly at the guttural moan he makes in response, arching up toward me, the veins in his pale neck pulsing beneath his pale satin skin. Just for a moment, I almost wish I was a vampire so I could sup at the fount of all that rich, succulent, crimson life and love. In fact... I can't resist a little nip, just enough to keep things interesting. I just need a little taste of my man.

"Oh fuck, Jasper, please..." Edward begs, velvet voice roughened and sweeping over me with a sexy ticklish rasp like the tongue of a kitten.

"You're going to fuck Jasper?" I ask him with a teasing grin. "What if I'd rather fuck Edward?"

Edward groans, arching up against me, his body sliding like warm satin against me, smooth and sleek under my chest as I lean down, flicking my tongue against those kiss-swollen lips. His hands are warm and solid palming and kneading down my back as I nuzzle against his face, my nose brushing his for a moment before I catch his lips in another hungry kiss, the passion surging, cresting inside me as I nearly kiss the breath from him. Reaching back for his hands, I press them against the bed again, grinding my pelvis down against Edward's, before running my fingers in a teasing caress against his sides, groaning into his mouth at the familiar, sweet taste of that wet, lush mouth and tongue.

Edward pulls panting from the kiss, his warm breath huffing soft against my lips as he bucks up against me, arching aching and hot into me, and slides his arms around me, his hands sliding down into the waistband of my jeans once more and I groan at the feel of the hot kneading pressure of his fingers against the top curve of my ass. Unable to keep from sliding against him, my hips rock forward as Edward makes a low groaning sound that sends fire dancing through my veins to stiffen my cock all the more against him.

And then... he all but ruins it.

"Is this wrong, Jasper?" he whispers against my ear, pain tightening his voice even as his arms tighten around me, his finger dipping into the cleft of my ass. "I mean, because... Bella..."

"Shh..." I shake my head, swallowing, even as the guilt throbs inside me like an ache. "Edward, baby... just... please... don't."

My body trembles as the passions crest inside me with the bruising force of years of pent-up desire and frustration and hunger and longing and loneliness, and sparked by his words, I feel nearly overwhelmed with the power of their punishing force. Love and desire and need wars with anger, resentment and bitterness for all the lost years and heartache.

Edward turns his head, his fingers still caressing and stroking my skin, and though his gaze is averted, I still see the guilt carving sadness into those fine features, dulling the green of those jeweled eyes.

"Edward, look at me."

Tear-shimmering eyes gaze up at me again and I feel the fire building inside me. "I love you. I love you so much, but, goddamn it, E, don't turn away from me. Don't you ever fucking leave again! Don't you ever fucking hurt me again, baby... _never_ again...."

My voice is raw, choking on a near sob that embarrasses me and halts my husky words.

Edward's eyes widen, and instead of pulling away, he pulls me down to him, a soft gasping breath escaping him as his arms slide up my back, holding me tight. I feel his heart pounding, racing in his chest, his hair brushing feathery against my face and neck as he shakes his head, his body trembling, too, hard as mine, and I feel the bite of his nails in my skin as he breathes, "I'll never leave you, Jasper. I love you. I love you so much, and I swear, baby, I'll never leave you again."

I pull back to look in his face and he reaches up with a trembling hand to brush his fingers against my face with the most gentle and reverent of touches, his eyes green and wet as a new sapling - new growth, new life, my man returned to me with new hope burning in those amazing eyes of his. I brush my thumb against his ebony-bronze lashes grown spiky with tears and he sighs, shivering as I lean in and kiss him gently, tracing the curve of his lips with my tongue, lapping at the salt tears and sweetness.

Edward swallows and takes a deep breath, his hands sliding down my back and below my jeans again, stroking, kneading, gentling me, and I groan a little, rocking against him, calming under his soothing, loving touch, my movements slow and firm as I kiss his hair, his temple, the corner of his eye. Outside this room, the guilt and pain may await us, but here, in the sweet sanctuary of our love, we're safe. Right now, it's just the two of us and we can just forget the rest of the whole damn world for a little while and reclaim what we've lost.

"Jasper... my Jasper," he whispers against me neck, kissing me. "Nothing feels as right as this. Nothing ever has... save this, _only this_. The only heaven I've ever known is what I've known with you, my wild angel."

The words work wonders to soothe my soul, as do the gentle strokes, and I gently suckle his earlobe, drawling, "Pretty words, my prince."

Edward slides his fingers up to stroke the small of my back, murmuring. "True words, Jazz."

My man and I have a lot to discuss and I know things are still up in the air with us, but we've been through hell and back today, and damn it, we deserve this time together. We've waited fucking years, and truthfully, I feel like I'm gonna die if I don't get to touch him in every intimate way possible and enjoy a proper reunion with my lover.

All I want is to love him and _love_ him again, to sink deep inside the surging strength of that tight heat and know the pure bone-melting bliss of his gorgeous body. I can't wait a moment longer. I've waited long enough. _We've_ waited long enough.

With a lusty growl and a wildcat smile to match, I push him gently onto his back again and slide down the bed, letting my smoldering gaze blaze a heated path down his long, pale neck to the broad, strong shoulders, over the strong curves of his chest and down the taut lines of his abdomen, stroking my hand down the center of his chest to his navel, grinning with a low, rumbling chuckle as I feel him quiver. "Mmm... that's it, baby, just relax. Gonna play you like Scarlet. Make you sing for me..."

He stretches languidly against the bed, relaxing into the pleasure about to come as I lick my fingers, then roll them over his nipple, smiling as it hardens under my ministrations, and I pluck it, remembering well how much Edward enjoys that. He groans and sighs, stretching, toes flexing as I lean over to lap at his nipple, swirling my tongue over it soft and smooth, before gently nipping him, making him cry out before soothing the sting with another velvety swipe of my tongue, my fingers gently rolling and plucking at his other nipple as I press my cock against his thigh, rocking into him with a husky moan that is muffled by his sweet, warm flesh.

"Jasper, " he breathes, his hand sliding into my hair, massaging and stroking it as his other hand traces over my forearm.

"What, baby?" I whisper, my breath humid and soft against him, kissing and sucking and nibbling until I feel him near trembling below me.

"Unnhh... please... oh god.." he breathes.

"No, not enough sweet sounds yet," I whisper in reply and I shake my head, resting my chin against his saliva-dampened chest, never stopping the rolling and light pinching of his nipple, even as I slide down him further. "Told you, E, gonna make you sing, my man..."

"You're the singer, baby, not me," Edward smiles, tracing his finger over my nose.

"_Au contraire, mon cher!_" I grin, causing Edward to laugh, his thumb dipping into the dimple beside my mouth.

"You sing in bed, _mon bel ami_," I continue.

"Jasper!" Edward laughs, his gorgeous face alight with humor. "Oh, _mon dieu! _Please stop it with the bad French. You are butchering one of the most beautiful languages on the planet."

"Shut up, you!" I chuckle in response, tickling up his ribs. "Take me to Paris, then, so I can improve my foreign language skills."

"Gladly," he smiles, curling his fingers in my hair.

"Really? Oh, alright then, _Cheri_! I've always wanted to see Europe." I purse my lips for a moment, pausing. "Well... except for fucking Italy."

Edward's eyes widen at that probably in fear that I'm going to bring up the past between us and ruin our intimacy, but then he sees the teasing glint in my eyes and he just loses it, and I love the sound of that laughter as it washes over me like sunshine. He smacks me on the ass hard and we both start laughing.

"Wicked, wicked rogue," he laughs, slapping my ass again. "God, I've missed you, J."

Sliding up against him, I wrap my arms around my mirthful man - weak with the warm catharsis of laughter - my fingers sliding down to unbutton and unzip his jeans. Our laughter fades at that whisper of sound and I lock my gaze on his, feeling him tremble at the sound of the zipper being lowered. He swallows, his hands sliding around to the front of my already unbuttoned jeans and tugs the zipper down lower on them as well. I sit up some then, my heart pounding in my throat as I gaze down at him lying there - flushed with desire, high color blooming like desert flowers on his cheeks.

I rise from the bed then and Edward watches me, those flashing verdant eyes tracing over me and I swear to god, I can feel the heat of that gaze scorching over me as I reach down to tug off my boots, then shimmy out of my jeans.

"Commando?" Edward asks, arching his eyebrow and I shrug.

"Yeah, well, hope springs eternal, my man."

He grins at that and then his eyes sweep hungrily over me again as he groans, "Oh god, Jasper, you're still so beautiful - all lean muscle, rangy limbs, sleek skin, heavy cock and..."

I flush at the heated praise. "And all yours, darlin'."

Smiling, he nods and holds his hand out for me but I shake my head, easing down into the chair across from him where I sit with my legs sprawled, dick stiff and strong between them, watching him.

"Jasper?" he asks, confusion evident in his malachite eyes.

"Your turn."

He arches his eyebrow with seeming impatient frustration but, even so, he rises to his knees on the bed, tucking his thumbs into his jeans and boxers, lowering them, and oh sweet Jesus, the beauty of him. I groan, watching him slither out of his jeans, revealing those long, strong legs and that gorgeous, thick, weeping cock that rises proudly from a nest of soft, dark curls.

"Mmm... so fuckin' fine. God, Edward..."

Those ripe lips curl into a smirking smile, his eyes hooded with desire even as they spark with dark emerald glitter and I feel the hard, thick evidence of my _appreciation_ of his body throbbing almost painfully now. With a husky sigh, I lean back in the plush chair, my eager eyes drinking in the sight of Edward's sleek physique before bending down to retrieve my jeans, pulling out a condom and a small tube of lube from the pocket.

Edward quirks his eyebrow. "Hope springs eternal?"

"That's me, Sweetheart. The eternal optimist."

Shaking his head, he laughs softly and motions for me to come to him but I shake my head, smirking lazily, wanting to watch him a moment longer and to give him a little show, remind him of what he gave up years ago, but he could have again... if he plays his cards right.

Never breaking eye contact with the lightning eyes that pierce into my own, I wet my fingers and slide my hand down around myself, fingers wrapping around my shaft as I begin to slowly stroke my erection nice and firm and... _just right_. Yeah, I'm putting on a show for Edward, and judging from the laser-beam heat in those bright eyes and his soft, deep breathing, and the flush of color in those sculpted cheeks of his, I think it's safe to assume he's enjoying the show.

With a low moan, I run my palm over the sticky head of my cock, thumbing over the slit, smoothing the pearly juices that glisten there with a smooth, gliding motion of my wrist and I watch Edward bite his lip with a low groan as his desire deepens and he slides his hand down to stroke his own pulsing arousal.

"That's it, baby," I murmur with a wink as I slip my thumb over and over the slick head of my cock, swirling over it nice and slow and easy, watching as Edward's eyes widen and he swallows heavily, slowly pumping his hand up and down his own straining, gorgeous length.

"Jasper... fuck..."

"Soon, darlin'..."

Watching Edward, I wrap my fingers tighter around my shaft, feeling it throb against my hand. Pumping full, long strokes now, hips arching, I curl my wet fingers around the head again and stroke downward, causing Edward to groan.

"Please, Jasper..."

I can't resist that sweet pleading.

Rising from the chair, I go to him, tossing the lube and condom down on the bed beside him as I slide my arms around him and he pulls me into a lush, long kiss. Moaning huskily against the warm, yielding softness of his mouth, I feel his hot, satin tongue stroke against my lips before slipping inside to glide again with my own, and groaning, I slide onto the bed, pulling Edward atop me as he deepens his kiss.

Green eyes dark-dazed, Edward pulls panting from the kiss and smiles down at me as I wrap my arms around him, basking for a long moment in just the closeness of Edward, the feel of his skin against mine, the heightened intimacy, and I let my eyes sweep caressingly over him again, tracing a hungry path down that beautiful face to his elegant neck - now baring the mark of my desire, and I swear to god, I am fucking throbbing, aching to burrow inside this exquisite man again.

Groaning softly, Edward moves with almost liquid grace atop me, his erection tight and pulsing like warm, satin-swathed steel against mine as he presses full and hard to me - skin to skin, cock to cock - rocking his pelvis against my length as I lean up to latch onto his throat, suckling and kissing, gently biting the warm, sweat-salted flesh.

"Jasper..." Edward moans as I twist below him, undulating and bucking beneath him until he gasps, his face flushed as he reaches down to slide his hands into my hair, pulling it, tilting my face up to his and I smile up into those desire-darkened green eyes above me, my hands sliding and smoothing down his back slowly, tickling along the sensitive skin and the smooth line of his spine, feeling every delicious tremor as Edward trembles with want and need over me, his arousal as hard and ready as my own.

Reaching up, I slide fingers, wet from my own juices, across Edward's glossy-moist, parted lips and I ask him, "So, baby, are we just gonna lay here and look at each other and kiss and grind off together all night, or are we gonna have sex?"

Edward smiles and leans down to capture my lips again in another heated, soulful kiss of tangled tongues and mingled breath, and when we part, he glances down at me, flashing a diamond grin. "I vote for the latter, though, the former is nice as well."

Tossing him a coy smile, I can't help but laugh softly. "I agree, darlin', and I vote for the latter as well."

Moaning deep in his chest, Edward pulls me closer, kissing me as we roll over in the bed so that I'm laying atop him again now. Edward groans, his hips twisting and damp with a fine sheen of sweat as they press tight to mine, his full arousal throbbing hot and hard between us and rolling across my own pulsing, aching length. I growl at the feel of him, rolling my hips down against his as I feel his strong, hot hands grasp my back and I thrust with a languid, sensual roll of my hips against him.

"Jasper..." Edward pants, pressing his hips up into mine, the slick of his sweat-shiny skin gliding beneath me. "Please, Jasper, I need you. I need to feel you..."

"Oh, fuck yes, baby..." I mutter, my voice raw with lust as Edward slides his foot up my leg, writhing below me, and I feel like I'm going frantic with need and hot desire, my body aflame at the feel of that long, toned body spread delectably below me, the hot cock stroking so deliciously against my own, and I reach for the tube of slick as Edward pulls me into another wet, deep kiss and it feels like I'm drowning, just sinking in hot waves of sensation and love, and I'm making these guttural sounds that hardly sound human, groaning against Edward's mouth, my hands reaching up to tangle in the skeins of soft copper-bronze hair that spread across the pillow, light dancing across the shining strands.

We kiss for long, succulently-sweet moments until I finally have to pull back, panting and smiling down at my flushed lover as I open the lubricant and wet my fingers with the slick fluid. Leaning down, I mouth one of his nipples again, sucking it hard, sliding the flat of my tongue over the pebbled, tightened surface, biting gently, then rubbing my lips against the abraded flesh, soothing him and I feel his belly tighten and quiver in response below mine.

I slide down the bed then and Edward whimpers.

"Be patient, Edward. I'm not going anywhere, babe. We have all night."

His body taut with need, he groans and arches as I slide between his thighs, nuzzling and scenting, letting that heady, sweet, much-missed musky scent work its seductive spell over me. I lay my head on his thigh for a moment, reaching out to grasp his cock with my slick fingers as Edward groans, twitching in my hand and I moan at the feel of him - so hard and hot and fucking perfect, throbbing against my palm as I press hot, open-mouth kisses against his thigh, my own cock pressing tight to Edward's leg, leaking warm and silky against it.

I gaze up at him and breathe softly, blowing a warm huff of breath over his straining cock before swirling my tongue against the satiny head of it. Groaning, my eyes close in bliss as that familiar bright flavor bursts over my tongue and I lap at the head, dipping my tongue into the slit to gather more of the tangy fluid before suckling just the head softly, sensually, pulsing my tongue over him as Edward cries out, his body taut and straining below me.

I stroke his thigh gently, pulling back off him, whispering soft "shhhs" against him, caressing my cheek against his cock, my lashes brushing his sensitive flesh with a whisper-soft stroke that makes Edward gasp, his hand fisting tight in my hair. Smiling, I take him into the wet heat of my mouth again, humming around him, suckling soft kisses against that silk-skinned shaft, tracing the curving line of a pulsing vein with my tongue.

I take my time slowly, luxuriantly, reacquainting myself with my lover.

Edward cries out with soft, husky pleading breaths as I lick along the thick vein, teasing my tongue in slow circles around him until I reach the head of his cock again, my warm breath bathing over him, tongue flicking and teasing and dipping into the slit again to tongue away the silky juices. Groaning, my own cock pulsing at the taste and feel of him, I take him deeper into the wet heat of my mouth, my lips sealing tight around him as I suckle him, my tongue fluttering against him. He cries out almost piteously again, stroking and kneading at my head, murmuring hotly about my '_fucking beautiful mouth'. _

Moaning, I slide my hand down to stroke his heavy, velvety balls, thumbing over the fullness of them, gently stroking and pulling the sac, before rolling my fingers against the warm flesh. He gasps as I swirl my tongue against him again, sucking him slow and sensual, sliding him deeper into my mouth and down my throat as I groan a rumbly-wet purr around him, bobbing over him now, gliding him in and out of the wet heat.

I know the signs when Edward is about to come, the way his thighs tighten, the way his breathing deepens as he slides his hand down to my shoulder, grasping it hard as I moan around him, my cheeks sucking in slowly, strongly, easing him down until the head of his cock presses at the back of my throat. I pause a moment, breathing deeply through my nose as I relax, easing that smooth cockhead down, down, swallowing around it, tears pricking at my eyes as the smooth walls of my throat take Edward in, caressing him with the swallowing motion.

Edward keens, crying out as he grabs at me, and desperate for tenderness with him, even during this most sexual and primal of acts, I reach up to grasp his hand, lacing my fingers with his as that beautiful body bows off the bed. I gently press him down against it again, sucking hard, sliding him in and out of my mouth and throat, bobbing with familiar, graceful ease over him. The sensuality is intoxicating - the taste of him honeyed and pooling on my tongue, the rosy-gold heat of the sunset warm against my back, the smell of him - musky and sweet in my nose and I groan, the sound muffled by his delicious flesh throbbing inside me, shivering, my back rolling even as I take Edward deeper. I peer up at him then from beneath tear-glossy lashes with another swallowing satin embrace as he howls, watching me, crying out my name, shuddering and stiffening, his cock seeming to swell as he slides deeper into my throat and the hot, salty fluids pulse from him, flooding in delicious, hot, creamy spurts down my throat.

_Oh fuck, yes..._

I'm moaning then, swallowing down all he has to give as he whimpers, his hands kneading and stroking through my sweaty hair as he pants my name, whispering his love. Tears heavy in my lashes, I draw back slowly, pressing my lips against him, milking the juices fully from him as he shudders, and I work him gently through the intensity of his climax, swallowing again before drawing completely off him with a soft, slurping, adoring kiss to the head of his cock.

"Jasper..." he pants. "Oh god, baby, thank you. That was incredible. Come here, love."

I crawl up him then, my hard, jutting cock sliding over Edward's belly and leaving a silky trail of warm, milky fluid in its wake as I lean down to kiss him, sharing the tangy taste of himself with Edward who groans, swirling his sweet tongue deep inside my mouth.

When we part from the kiss, I suck softly at his strong chin. "Feel good, baby?" I drawl, my words a husky caress against his skin as I stroke his hip, feeling the tight, sweet ache in my loins as I press into the hard muscles of his abdomen.

"Exquisite, Jazz, oh god, yes. I've missed you so much and I've missed this incredible, gorgeous mouth of yours," he moans, stroking his thumb over the swollen curves of my lips, his other hand threading through my thoroughly sex-tangled hair. Edward smiles, sliding both hands into my long, unruly waves, tugging at the mass of it. "Jasper Lustlocks," he chuckles and I roll my eyes, causing him to laugh deeper, the warm tremor of that laughter thrumming against me.

"Yeah, well, speaking of lust..." I waggle my eyebrow at him, earning me another warm chuckle from my man as he rises up on his elbow to kiss me again, his hand sliding down to grip my pulsing length, causing me to inhale sharply against his mouth, the aching fire that beats inside his hand now echoing with the pounding of my heart.

"Don't tease, E," I warn him, my mouth parting in a low moan as he thumbs over the head of my cock slowly, before sheathing it in the tight grip of his warm, strong hand, fingers sliding the heated moisture seeping from me down the pulsing length.

"I'm not a cock-tease, Jasper," he says, smiling that crooked smile that always makes my heart tumble about in my chest like a drunk acrobat. "Besides," he breathes, kissing slowly - soft, wet, suckling kisses - down my jaw and under my chin, rasping his tongue over the late afternoon whiskers there, "I want you, Jasper. All of you - your brave beating heart..." and saying that, he slides down the bed, pressing a kiss to my chest, flickering his tongue wicked and wet over my nipple.

"...and your sweet soul..." Now he peers up at me, sliding his hands up to stroke his thumbs over the curve of my cheeks under my eyes.

I swallow, rocking my cock against him languidly, my gaze heavy on his - fiery jade meeting smoldering emerald.

"...and your beautiful body..." he whispers, drawing his legs up as I melt down atop him, his hands sliding in a stroking caress down the seam of my spine.

Then smiling, he arches up in the bed, driving up into me with his spent cock that, it would seem, is beginning to swell again. "....and your gorgeous cock, my carnal cowboy."

I grin down at the beautiful and seductive incubus curled sinuously around me and, reaching for the lube again, I slick my fingers as Edward avidly watches me. With slightly shaking hands, I gently press on his thighs, nudging his legs up higher in the bed as I slide my hand down to stroke soft, hot and tender across the tight ring of puckered muscle nestled between the taut cheeks of his gorgeous ass, groaning at the feel of that warm, fleshy entrance, the gates of heaven as far as I'm concerned.

Edward's eyes close and he whines softly, relaxing against my long, gently-invading fingers.

"That's it, darlin', just relax for me, just let me work you open....mmm... yeah, that's it, Edward," I murmur, whispering kisses across his bent knee as I carefully slide one slick finger inside him, revolving it slowly inside that tight, velvety heat, groaning at the feel of Edward's body grasping at my finger causing my cock to twitch, wet and aching with anticipation, against the formerly pristine white sheets.

Edward sighs then, relaxing against me and I smile, kissing down his thigh as I slowly ease more of my finger inside him, stroking the ringed entrance softly with another finger, smiling as he whines at the sensation. "That's it, E, baby. Love makin' my man sing when I play your body like this... god, Edward, you feel so fuckin' fine, so hot and tight... can't wait to slide my cock inside you and really love you open."

I smile as Edward arches up into my stroking hand and I feel it's probably safe for me to slide in another finger, so I ease another wet finger inside him, slowly massaging those tight, warm, velvety walls. He whimpers softly as I draw my fingers out some, before sinking them back inside him again and I press my thumb to the outside of the tight ringed muscle, smoothing the delicate, puckered flesh, wanting to ease him open from the outside as well as the inside.

"How long has it been, Edward?" I ask him softly and I'm careful to keep my voice neutral.

Panting, he strokes his hand over his chest and licks his lips, "Years, Sweetheart. There's been no one with me like this since you, Jasper."

I close my eyes, his words like a gift, a benediction to my soul and I lean over to kiss his lips, suckling his lips gently, nibbling and lapping my tongue over them as I continue to slowly work my fingers in and out of that hot, sleek channel. Edward cries out softly as I stretch him out slowly, opening my fingers inside him in an intimately-familiar scissoring motion. I kiss him again, swallowing his gasping cries as I move my fingers inside him in a deep, circular caress seeking that small, sweet spot I know will make Edward ache with longing for me to stroke it with my cock.

Curving my fingers, I find the small, sensitive, raised gland within Edward's hot depths and I brush my fingers so gently over it, but even that gentle stroke causes Edward to howl, bowing up gracefully as he reaches to grab me by my hair again.

"Now... god, please, Jasper, now, baby...…" he begs huskily, green eyes dark with heavy desire that resounds in an echoing throb in my own lust-heavy loins.

"Christ, Edward,..." I pant, sliding my fingers out, smoothing my hands along his taut, warm thighs, as I slide between his legs, trembling with desire. "I need you, baby. Need you so much..."

Edward swallows, grabbing for the condom packet. He attempts to open it with his shaking hands but then growls in impatience, biting into it.

"Careful, darlin', I only brought three. Don't rip it," I chuckle warmly, bending to kiss the hollow of his neck, lapping at the bead of sweat there before sitting up again.

"Three?" Edward laughs.

"Hey," I grin, shrugging. "The night is young, my man, as are we, so hell yeah, I brought three. Like I said, eternal optimist, that's me."

The green eyes dance, sparking with unmistakable desire and love and my heart pounds to see it. Oh, I well remember that gorgeous look. God, how I've missed it. God, how I've missed _him_.

* * *

_**A/N 2**: Okay, terrible cliffhanger I know! Gah! Sorry, sorry, but, really, it's already one monstrously-long chapter so I had to stop it somewhere. Don't worry, though, next chapter will pick up from here from Edward's perspective of their *reunion* ;). Plus, after the citrussy-sweetness, it'll be time for a little pillow-talk. They have a lot to discuss and work through still. It's not all hearts and flowers for these boys yet, folks! :) Sorry! Still have a little angst to work through! _

_One more thing... Jasper's song to Edward is inspired by "Control" by MuteMath - slightly modified, though:_

_*~*~*_

_**Take me far away from here  
There is no better loss than to lose myself in you  
**__**My falcon, I am captive in your sky  
Surrender has somehow become so beautiful  
Such a beautiful surrender**_

**_You move me through the darkest clouds_**  
**_Till I've lost, in your sun, every shadow of my doubt  
_**_**There is no better find than to find myself with you  
In a fog you're all I see  
Inviting you closer each time I breathe  
Surrender has somehow become so beautiful**_

_***~*~***_

_Thanks, Everyone! ***HUGS***_


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